


Six Impossible Things

by HeyAssbuttImBatman



Series: Supernaturally Magical Disney AUs [4]
Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton), Supernatural
Genre: Alice in wonderland crossover, Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Hints of angst because Castiel, I am no longer lazy but I am stupid as hell so have some tags, M/M, Magic, Nonbinary Character, POV Multiple, Prophecy, Protective Dean Winchester, SO much affectionate touching, Sam ends up in jail, Was I too lazy to add proper tags? Absolutely, Whimsy, but only for like an hour, the queen tries to behead a lot of people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyAssbuttImBatman/pseuds/HeyAssbuttImBatman
Summary: He hopes Sam is faring better than him, wherever he is. Sam is clever, much cleverer than Dean, and adaptable in the way that children often are. He should be fine. He’d better be fine.You should worry about yourself at the moment, says some frightened little part of his brain. He’s been walking for a while now, long enough that his feet are beginning to ache and the back of his neck is beginning to sweat and he’s worried—really, truly worried—that he’ll never find his way out of here.Which is of course when he runs into the first of the strange creatures who inhabit this place.Dean Winchester follows his younger brother down a rabbit hole and finds himself in Underland, a strange world filled with stranger people. Separated and lost, the brothers soon find themselves drawn into the political strife of two sister queens, a rebellion, and a prophecy which they just might be able to fulfill.AKA That Supernatural Alice in Wonderland AU Nobody Asked For
Relationships: Castiel & Gabriel (Supernatural), Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernaturally Magical Disney AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/465838
Comments: 68
Kudos: 45





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean falls into Wonderland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute since I posted anything, huh.
> 
> Buckle in, kiddos, because this fic is going to be a long one! I'm still writing it at the moment so updates are going to be weekly-ish? I'm having a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you like it! It combines canon from the original books, the Disney movie, and the Burton movies, so it's packed full of references, plot points, and characters that you may or may not be aware of. I respond to all comments (unless you comment "whisper" at the end—see end notes for details) so let me know if you have a question, comment, praise, criticism, etc. Comments make my day!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Part One: An Older Brother's Quest

Dean doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until the book falls out of his hands and lands in his lap, startling him so badly he almost tumbles out of the tree. Gripping the branch with both hands, he blinks and blearily looks around. He recognizes his mother’s flower garden but can hardly remember what he was doing here, except—the book is a history book. He _was_ giving his brother a history lesson, he remembers. Little wonder he dozed off, then, if _A Complete and Comprehensive History of England_ is their mother’s idea of an interesting read.

But where is Sam?

A jolt of fear shoots through Dean, but he smothers it as he lowers himself to the ground. Sam is young but not reckless, and just because he’s wandered off while Dean was asleep doesn’t mean he’s in trouble.

Then he remembers just _who_ his brother is, and his fear ratchets up a notch.

“Sam!” he calls, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. Bones, Sam’s sleepy old dog, looks up at him and thumps his tail on the ground. Dean puts his hands on his hips and frowns. “Useless,” he says. “Get up and find your master before he gets into trouble. Go find Sam, Bones!”

With a groan, Bones pulls himself to his feet and pads off, nose to the ground. Dean follows, and only realizes a few minutes later that he’s left behind his blue jacket. But then Bones pricks his ears and picks up his pace, and in the distance Dean hears a familiar voice calling for him.

“Dean!”

“Sam!” Dean replies. “Hold on, I’m coming! Go, Bones.”

Bones obediently trots off in the direction the voice came from, Dean close behind him. They find Sam crouched among the roots of a tall oak. There’s dirt on his hands and knees, and Dean sighs inwardly, already imagining the fit the maids will throw when they see the stains. But Sam’s gaze is so excited when he turns to face Dean that Dean can’t bear to say anything about it.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks instead. “Aren’t we supposed to be learning about history?”

“Yes, until you fell asleep,” Sam retorts, and Dean doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he just ruffles Sam’s hair and crouches next to him.

“Playing in the dirt, are we?” he says. It’s then that he notices the giant hole nestled in among the roots. “What the hell is that? Why are you digging in the dirt?”

“It wasn’t me,” Sam says. “It’s a rabbit hole.” Bones shuffles forward and noses at the edge of the hole, then woofs softly as if in agreement. The noise echoes strangely before petering out. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck stands on end, and he gets the feeling, suddenly, that there’s something not right about this, whatever it is.

“Let’s go back,” he says. “I left the book and my jacket over there. We should finish before we’re called in.”

“ _You_ want to get back to studying?” Sam says dubiously.

“Better than staring down a rabbit hole for no reason,” Dean says. “There’s probably not even rabbits down there, and even if there were, Bones is far from a hunting dog.” At the sound of his name, Bones looks up, tail wagging half-heartedly.

Sam stares at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he turns and mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” Dean asks.

“There _is_ a rabbit,” Sam says louder, “and he was wearing a _coat_.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “A what?” he says. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam says, clearly exasperated. “I know how it sounds, but I’m telling the truth. I saw a rabbit run in there, and he was wearing a coat and a pocketwatch.”

Dean looks over his shoulder, toward the house, and contemplates running back to get his father.

“Sam. . .” he says.

“I’m _not_ mad,” Sam says. Dean blows out a breath and stands up, wincing as it makes his knees creak.

“It’s hot,” he says. “And we’ve been out here for a while.”

“I’m not mad!” Sam repeats, frowning sharply.

“I didn’t say you were! But you might just be seeing things. The heat can mess with your mind.”

“I’m not seeing things, either,” Sam insists. Dean starts heading back toward where he left his things, patting his thigh for Bones to follow.

“Well, whatever’s going on, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go poking around in strange holes.”

Sam doesn’t reply.

“Sam?” Dean says, and turns around just in time to see Sam’s legs disappear into the hole. “Oi!” Bones begins barking as Dean rushes back to the rabbit hole and peers inside. It’s too dark to see anything, but he can hear Sam as he crawls further in. “Sam!”

“How far does this thing go?” Sam grumbles, his voice faint. Dean sits frozen, listening intently, and he jumps when Sam suddenly yelps. He doesn’t respond when Dean calls for him again, and Dean fears the worst. With only a moment’s hesitation, he gets down on his hands and knees and crawls into the rabbit hole. 

It’s a tight fit, but once he’s through it widens out into something like a tunnel. Sam was right; it just keeps going. Bones is howling behind him at this point and some part of him thinks it would be smarter to get his parents. But he can’t hear Sam anymore, and the thought that his brother might be injured or worse is enough to keep him moving.

His heart in his throat, Dean shuffles forward cautiously. The dirt turns to loose gravel. His hand slips, and with a strangled cry he tumbles headfirst into the dark. His stomach leaps into his throat. The pressure becomes so much that he can’t scream, can barely gasp for air. The wind screeches past his ears. His heart pounds, and behind the part of his mind terrified of his impending death, he wonders just how many rabbits were involved in digging this tunnel.

Suddenly, it stops. Dean’s shirt has come undone and filled with air, leaving him floating gently like a leaf on the wind. Breathing heavily, Dean places a hand on his chest and tries to calm his heartbeat. He hopes Sam is okay. He doesn’t want to imagine Sam falling to whatever awaits him at the bottom of this godforsaken tunnel.

A dark shape arises in front of him. It looks like a lamp, which is ridiculous, but Dean reaches out for it anyway and fiddles until he finds a thin chain. He tugs; the light flicks on. It _is_ a lamp, resting innocently on a small wooden side table. Both are floating in place, apparently unconcerned with the laws of gravity, and Dean stares at them as he passes them by.

Then he notices that this tunnel is filled with furniture—tables and rugs and shelves filled with books, tapestries hung on the dirt walls, and little knick-knacks floating by. Some of the lamps have stained glass shades that cast colored lights across everything as he passes. Dean looks around, trying to find a clue as to who—or what—might be inhabiting this place, but there’s nothing that distinguishes it from any other study.

He jerks to a stop. Dean blinks and looks around, and finally he realizes that he’s somehow gotten his feet hooked onto what appears to be a curtain rack. What’s worse is that he’s upside down, and with that realization comes the feeling of blood rushing unpleasantly to his head. Grimacing, he reaches toward his feet and grabs hold of the bar, then unhooks his feet and lowers himself to the ground with a grunt. He draws back the curtain.

Beyond is another long tunnel, this one well-lit and horizontal. He spots what might be a door at the other end, and he takes one step forward before his brain catches up with him and he pauses. If he wanders off into whatever strange place he’s found himself in, there’s no telling how or when or if he’ll be able to leave. On the other hand, Sam is down here somewhere.

Really, in the end it’s not much of a choice.

The hall echoes with his footsteps as he walks toward the door, and he’s struck by how empty it is. Sam wasn’t that far ahead of him. Shouldn’t he have run into him? Or at the very least, shouldn’t there be someone else here? He thinks this place might be some strange underground manor built before the Winchester family established themselves here, and in that case he’ll run into someone sooner or later. Hopefully sooner; the silence is making him nervous.

Tall, wooden, and elegantly carved, the door is also, thankfully, unlocked. His brow furrows in confusion when he finds yet another door behind the first, slightly smaller, slightly less ornate. Behind that door is yet _another_ door, smaller still. With growing frustration, Dean opens door after door, until _finally_ he opens one that leads somewhere else. It’s tiny, though, and square, and Dean curls his lip as he’s forced to his hands and knees to crawl through it.

Except when he goes to turn the knob, the door screams in pain, and Dean jolts back, eyes wide.

“I beg your pardon,” he says automatically, because he was raised to be polite, even if the person he’s been rude to is a door.

“Quite all right,” says the door, the knob wiggling. Dean sees something that might be a pair of eyes above the knob, and below that, the keyhole is moving like a mouth. He’s just yanked on the poor thing’s nose, then. Well, so much for this being some survivalist nutter’s underground bunker. Really, he should have figured it out the moment he floated down here on nothing more than his shirttails. Belatedly, he realizes his shirt is still hanging loose about his thighs, and he hastily tucks it back into his pants.

“Perhaps you can help me,” says Dean. “I’m looking for my brother. He might have run through here looking for a rabbit in a waistcoat.”

“Well, one good turn does deserve another,” laughs the door. “Yes, I might’ve seen him. He didn’t much look like you, but a young man did come through earlier looking for a rabbit.”

“That’s Sam!” Dean says. “Will you let me through? I have to find him.”

“Well, you certainly won’t fit like that,” says the door. “You are currently quite impassable.”

“Impossible,” Dean corrects.

“Gesundheit,” says the door cheerfully. “Try the bottle on the table, and don’t forget the key like your brother did.”

“The what?” Dean looks over his shoulder. Sitting innocently in the center of the hall is a round glass side table. “Oh. I walked right by it without seeing it.”

He walks over. On the table is a small glass bottle with a paper tag marked “Drink Me,” and next to that is an ornate golden key. Dean picks up the key and the bottle, and as he turns the bottle around in his hand, inspecting it for anything suspicious, he absentmindedly unlocks the door and pulls it open.

“What’s in here, anyway?” he asks. There’s not much left, whatever it is. Sam must have drunk most of it. “It won’t kill me, will it?”

The door chortles, slightly muffled for facing the wall now. “Well, it didn’t kill your brother. I should think it’s quite safe. The only way through, at any rate, is to drink it, and if you want to find your brother, then I don’t think you have much choice.”

Dean makes a face. “It’s for Sam,” he reminds himself. Still, he allows himself to close his eyes in commiseration for himself. “Why can this boy never stay put?”

“Have you tried fitting him with hinges?” asks the door.

Dean sighs, and he drains the bottle. Instantly, he regrets it. It’s like falling down the rabbit hole again, only his feet don’t leave the ground, and instead his vision goes black as his head plummets toward the floor. When he blinks the room suddenly seems much larger, and the open doorway looms before him.

Beyond it is a forest.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. He’d been too distracted to look before, but now he can’t tear his gaze away from the strange sight in front of him. In the threshold, the glossy floor turns abruptly to plush blueish grass, and not far beyond that trees rise like mountains. Dark and strange, they sit squat and twisted in shades of pink and purple and blue, shot through with swirls of darker grain.

“There aren’t any animals in there, are there?” Dean asks.

“Oh, certainly there are,” says the door. “All kinds.”

A shiver of apprehension travels down his spine. “Bigger than I am?”

“When you’re like this?” says the door. “Undoubtedly. You should hurry, you know. Your brother has quite the head start on you by now.”

“You’re right,” Dean says. He nods to himself, newly determined, and steps out into the forest. The door slams shut, booting him the rest of the way out, and when Dean turns around angrily to tell the door off, he finds he’s facing the twisted trunk of a gnarled blue tree. His tirade dies on his tongue. “Curious,” he says to himself.

He looks around. The forest is as dark as he’d first thought. No sunlight pierces the canopy, and he can’t even see the sky from here, though that may be because he’s so small. The tips of the grass come up to his knees. He comes face to face with an ant the size of a Rottweiler and nearly falls over in his haste to get out of its way.

“Alright, Dean,” he tells himself. “Keep your head. You’ve just got to find Sam, and then you can go home.”

Though how he’s supposed to find his brother when he’s three inches tall in a forest this size is beyond him.

“One step at a time,” Dean says. He picks a direction at random and starts walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a fun little challenge, I'm going to put six impossible things in this fic! The one in this chapter was explicit, but the other five might not be so obvious! Can you find them all? ;)
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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> * Long comments
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> * Questions
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> * Constructive criticism
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> * “<3” as extra kudos
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> * Reader-reader interaction
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> This author replies to comments.
> 
> Note: If you don't want a reply for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with "whisper" and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	2. Through the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sings with the Flowers and recites with the caterpillar Absolem.

With no view of the sky, Dean can’t exactly use the sun to keep track of the time, but he’s so sore and thirsty by the time he sees the first butterfly that he just knows it’s been a while. So far he’s seen no hint of anyone else—no people, no animals, and especially not Sam.

So the butterflies are a welcome surprise. They seem strangely aware of him, for bugs, or perhaps it’s because he can see their faces so clearly now that they’re the size of large cats. Something akin to intelligence shines in their eyes as they grasp and tug at his clothes.

“Hey!” He laughs and swats half-heartedly at them, and barely resists when they tug him off the path he was following—though it wasn’t really much of a path to begin with. He’s been wandering so long that the now-afternoon sunlight has turned thick and buttery—

Wait, the sun?

He looks up. The trees are thinning out, so much so that now he can see the blue sky beyond them; he simply hadn’t noticed, focused as he was on putting one foot in front of the other. The butterflies seem to be leading him somewhere, though, so he puts the sky out of his mind.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my brother anywhere, have you?” he asks. He doesn’t get an answer, not that he was expecting one. The grass grows thinner until there’s nothing but packed dirt underfoot, and all around him tall flowers are springing up, until the butterflies flitter away and he realizes he’s standing in the middle of a garden. A pretty one, too. With no discernable order, flowers of all types growing next to each other, it reminds him of the organized chaos his mother likes to cultivate in her own garden.

“Roses,” he muses as he looks around. “Violets. Lilies. But why would the butterflies bring me here?”

“You mean _bread_ -and-butter-flies,” says a voice from behind him, though when he spins around, wide-eyed, all he sees are more flowers. There’s a particularly stately red rose not too far away, and he thinks, _It couldn’t possibly_. But there could possibly be some truth in what the voice said. The butterflies _had_ had a particularly odd pattern on their pale wings.

Another insect totters by, pausing only to whinny at him playfully. Dean wrinkles his nose at it, but guesses, “Rocking-horsefly?”

“Very good, child.” He’s watching this time, and it _is_ the Rose who speaks.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m far from a child,” he says. Someone else titters; when he looks, the Lilies are holding their blooms behind their leaves demurely, like court ladies hiding their giggles behind their fans. As if this is some sort of signal, the other flowers begin to wake up, stretching their stems and shaking out their petals.

“My apologies, my dear,” says the Rose. “It’s just that we’ve never seen a flower quite like you before.”

“Hah,” says Dean. “Well, I’ve never met a flower who talks.”

“No?” asks the Iris. “Pity. Flowers are such wonderful conversationalists.”

“If there’s anyone worth talking to,” adds the Daisy, giggling nastily.

“And we sing, too.” This from a little bed of Pansies with faces like shy schoolchildren.

“Oh, let’s sing the one about the lilies of the valley,” says the Lily excitedly.

“No, not that old thing. What about ‘Tell it to the Tulips’?”

“We know one about the shy little violets.”

“Girls,” says the rose as the cacophony grows louder, “girls! We’ll sing ‘Golden Afternoon.’ That’s about all of us. Sound your A, Lily!”

The Lily does. Eyes wide with amazement, Dean takes a seat on the ground and watches as the flowers, led by the Rose with her conductor’s baton, begin to sing. He hums along when he finds the melody, and he even lets one of the Daisies pull him to his feet and spin him around as the final few notes fade away.

Afterwards, he can’t help but applaud them.

“That was incredible!” he says to the Rose.

“Thank you, my dear,” she says, pleased. “And thank you for being such a lively audience.”

“Any time,” Dean says. “My brother would love this.” His smile dims.

“Whatever is the matter?” asks the Iris, peering at him from behind a vine curled like a pair of opera glasses. 

“My brother is missing,” he says. “He ran off somewhere and I’ve been trying to find him all day.”

“No luck yet?” asks the Rose sympathetically.

“What sort of flower is he?” asks the Daisy.

“If he’s anything like you, it’ll be difficult indeed to find him,” says the Iris. She leans down and sniffs his hair theatrically. “No fragrance.”

“And such dull petals,” adds the Daisy, poking at his pale blue shirttails, which have come untucked _again_.

“And just look at those stems!” the Larkspur chimes in, pointing at his indigo pants. Dean frowns sharply; he’d thought he looked rather handsome today.

“I beg your pardon!” he says. “We’re _people_.”

“ _People_?” says the Rose, wrinkling her delicate nose. “My dear, what we mean is just what genus, or shall we say _species_ are you?”

“You’d call us homo sapiens, I suppose,” Dean says, still a bit irritated over the flowers’ rude comments. “I’m Dean, and my brother’s name is Sam.”

“Oh, my,” says the Daisy wonderingly. “Have you ever seen a Dean with such a strange speckled pattern?” 

Dean flushes and touches his nose self-consciously.

“Come to think of it,” says the Iris, “have you ever seen a Dean?”

“You’re not a wildflower, are you?” ask the Pansies.

“I’m not a flower at all,” Dean says. The flowers all gasp. The Iris holds her glasses up triumphantly.

“I knew it!” she exclaims. “Why, he’s nothing but a common _mobile vulgaris_.”

 _I’m beginning to regret turning down my mother’s botany lessons_ , Dean thinks.

“And just what,” he asks aloud, “is that?”

The Iris leans down so they are face to face. “To put it bluntly, my dear, it is a _weed_.”

The flowers are in an uproar all around him. Dean gapes up at the Iris, bewildered.

“I am not a weed!” he says. “I’m a human being!”

“We don’t care what you call yourself; we don’t want you here!” say the Lilies, pushing him away.

He trips and lands among the Daisies, who bat at him with their leaves. “Don’t let him stay here and go to seed!”

“Oh, dear,” says the Rose, but she doesn’t protest as the flowers, still clamoring loudly, drive him out.

“Keep your petals to yourself!” Dean shouts. He stumbles but catches himself before he falls, and straightens his clothing out as he resists the urge to stamp his foot like a child. “If I were my right size, I’d pick every one of you and toss you into the fire.”

The cascade of water comes as a surprise.

Spluttering and coughing, he pulls himself to his feet and glares at the flowers, who have broken into raucous laughter.

“Someone ought to teach you lot some manners,” he mutters darkly. Angry, and forgetting all about Sam for a moment, Dean stomps away, growling under his breath. He stops short only a few moments later, watching with wide eyes the procession of smoky letters floating leisurely by.

“Oh, what now?” he says. He hesitates, and in the end what drives him to follow the trail of smoke is the fact that he doesn’t know when he’ll next run into someone who can help him find his brother. Still, he is cautious when he finally locates the one who’s been making the smoke.

It’s a strange sight, to be sure, but a caterpillar having a smoke is not the strangest thing he’s seen today. As he approaches, the caterpillar’s soft singing becomes clearer, and Dean takes a seat on a nearby mushroom to wait it out. It doesn’t take long; the caterpillar notices him after a while and cuts itself off, staring at Dean with half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes.

“Who,” asks the caterpillar, “are you?” 

With every word, a small plume of smoke blows out of the caterpillar’s mouth, coalescing into colorful letters that smell like rose and cardamom and tobacco when they hit Dean’s face. He’s coughing as he answers.

“I’m a weed—I mean, I’m Dean,” he says, his eyes watering.

“Well, which is it?” asks the caterpillar. Their voice is nasally, and they already sound annoyed, which Dean thinks is hardly fair.

“I’m Dean,” he decides. “Who are _you_?”

“ _I_? I am Absolem.”

Dean waits, but the caterpillar goes back to humming and seems content to ignore him. 

“If you don’t mind,” Dean says eventually, drawing Absolem’s exasperated gaze once again, “I could use your help.”

“ _You_?”

“Yes, me.” Dean frowns and crosses his arms. Must everyone in this place be so contrary? “I’m looking for my brother.”

“For _who_?”

“For _my brother_!” Finally, Dean does give in to the urge to stomp. It causes the mushroom to bounce, and he nearly loses his balance.

“You’ve lost him?” asks Absolem.

“Yes,” says Dean. “Or, no, he’s wandered off.”

“Why?”

“Because he—oh, I don’t know! Can you help me or not?”

“You?” Absolem leans in so close Dean can smell the smoke on their breath. “ _Who are you_?”

“I just _told_ you who I am!” Dean exclaims.

“Did you?” Absolem asks, bored.

“Yes.” Dean’s brow furrows. “Or at least, I could have sworn I did.” He puts his face into his hands and sinks down to sit cross-legged. “Everything is so confusing here. I’m hardly even sure what I’m doing half the time. I’m having difficulty remembering things.”

He’s even forgotten _Sam_ a few times, he’s sure, and that scares him more than any giant bug or gossipy flower he’s run into thus far.

“Recite,” says Absolem, and it takes Dean a moment to discern what they mean. When he figures it out, he flushes.

“I’m not a schoolboy,” he sneers. “Why don’t _you_ recite?”

“Very well, I shall, if only to show you how it is done.” Absolem lifts themself from their relaxed slouch. They take a long draw from their hookah, and instead of letters, it’s the hazy outline of a crocodile that emerges from their mouth when they speak.

“How doth the little crocodile,” they say slowly, “improve his shining tail, and pour the water of the Nile on every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spread his claws, to welcome little fishes in with gently smiling jaws.”

The smoke image of the crocodile disappears into the air, and Dean blinks, coming back to himself. Watching the story play out in the air, listening to Absolem’s low, nasally voice, he feels as though he was hypnotized.

“I don’t remember it going like that,” he says, still feeling a little off-kilter.

“I know,” says Absolem self-importantly. “I have improved it.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Dean starts, but the caterpillar rears around and glares at him.

“You?” they say yet again. “ _Who are you_?”

With every word, smoke pours from their mouth until it surrounds Dean in a hazy, colorful cloud. He spends a few moments coughing too hard to speak, and when he finally gets his breath back, his eyes watering profusely, he’s too angry to have anything nice to say, anyway.

“Good day!” he snaps and begins to storm off, but Absolem calls him back before he can go too far.

“You there! Boy! I have something important to tell you!”

“Is it about my brother?” Dean asks, glaring over his shoulder. Absolem puffs mysteriously, refusing to answer, and with a sigh Dean turns around and returns to his perch on the mushroom. “What is it?”

“Keep,” says Absolem, “your temper.”

“Is that all you’ve called me back to say?” Dean asks incredulously. 

“No.” Absolem opens one eye and glowers at him. “Exacatically _what_ is your problem?”

“My _problem_ ,” Dean says, “is that my brother is lost, everyone I’ve met here so far has been rude and unhelpful, and I’m an absolutely _wretched_ height at three inches high!”

Absolem draws themself to their full height, their expression murderous, their blue skin beginning to turn dark with the force of their angry flush.

“I am _exacatically_ three inches high, and it is a very good height indeed!” They puff so furiously at their hookah that a cloud of smoke soon obscures them, though this doesn’t deter Dean.

“I am _supposed_ to be about two meters, and in any case you _needn’t shout_!”

The smoke blows away. Absolem is gone, though their hookah and shoes and gloves remain. Dean is startled into losing his anger.

“By the way!” Absolem calls, seemingly unharmed for all that they’re now a pink butterfly. “One side will make you grow taller.”

“Beg pardon?” Dean says.

“And the other side will make you grow shorter.”

“Other side of what?” Dean calls. He falls backward and tumbles to the ground when Absolem darts in close.

“Of the mushroom, of course!” they shout, and they flutter off in a tizzy before Dean can recover.

Huffing, Dean rubs his sore shoulder and pulls himself to his feet. “Is _everyone_ here so barmy?” he wonders. He eyes the mushroom he was sitting on, and after a moment’s hesitation he tears off two good-sized chunks. “One side will make me grow,” he murmurs. “But which is which?”

He studies them both, but there’s not really a way to tell, so he simply picks one and takes a tiny bite. Instantly his vision goes white as he shoots up toward the trees, almost dislodging the nest of a fussy bird who takes to startled squawking when she sees him.

“Serpent!” she cries. Dean ignores her.

“That’s a bit too much, I think,” he says, and nibbles the other piece of mushroom. He shrinks back down to the size he was before. “Oh, confound it all!” He forces himself to take a deep breath. “Getting frustrated won’t help any,” he tells himself, and after a moment of thought, he licks the mushroom that makes him grow. He has no way to measure himself, but he _feels_ it when he returns to the right height. “Oh, thank goodness!”

A bit distastefully, he puts the mushrooms into his pockets, making sure to note which one went where. Then, returned to his normal size at last, he picks a direction at random, and continues on his mission to find his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear from you! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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> * Long comments
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> * Questions
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> * Reader-reader interaction
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> This author replies to comments.
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> Note: If you don't want a reply for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with "whisper" and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	3. With the Cheshire Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets the Cheshire Cat.

Dean walks until he finds himself in a deeper, darker part of the woods. The trees are short and squat here, and their foliage covers the sky completely so that it seems as though it’s night time. Even still, Dean never wants for light to see by, for even if it’s dim and hazy, the trees themselves seem to glow with some strange, inner light in all colors of the rainbow.

Eventually he notices that somehow he’s been following a path. Not long after that he comes to—not a fork in the road, but something like a partially unraveled knot. More paths than he can count intersect seemingly at random, curling like calligraphy, and at times even doubling back and bisecting themselves. Rough signs of splintery wood are nailed into almost every tree he can see, but they don’t help at all. They point him in directions such as “this way” and “that way” and “yonder.”

Dean pauses and glances around, discomfited but refusing to show it.

“Now if I were Sam,” he says to himself, “which way would I be likely to go?”

Which is an impossible question to answer, really, because he doesn’t understand how Sam’s mind works at home, let alone in this strange land where nothing seems to work the way it’s supposed to.

He is about to pick a direction and hope for the best when he notices that the lights in the trees are flashing, growing stronger and then dimmer in turn, marking the meandering path of something in the trees. It’s coming closer, whatever it is, and with it comes a strange voice, floating along on the breeze, singing some lilting song that Dean’s never heard of.

“‘ _Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe_ ,” it says, which seems to depart some great significance, even if Dean’s not sure what it means. He strains his ears to listen, and as such he almost misses the way that the darkness seems, suddenly, to have eyes and a wide grin.

“ _All mimsy were the borogoves_ ,” the mouth says, with golden eyes dancing above it, “ _and the mome raths outgrabe_.”

Dean watches nervously as the rest of the figure emerges from the shadows, striped gold and honey-brown, pupils slitted and grin never wavering. He isn’t sure what to expect, but it’s certainly not the lithe little figure he sees sprawled comfortably over the tree branch.

“You’re a—cat?” Dean says, surprised, but finds he isn’t sure. The figure certainly has the pointed ears and voluminous tail of a cat, but the rest of it is undeniably the body of a young man, perhaps only a few years older than Dean himself. The stripes might be a shirt, and they might not; they stop at his waist, where starts something like pants in that same honey-brown color, only those disappear into a pair of dark brown boots at his calves. His hair falls into his eyes as he leans forward, balanced precariously on a thick tree branch, and he pushes it back absentmindedly with clawed fingers.

“A Cheshire Cat,” the figure confirms. He tips an imaginary hat. “You may call me Gabriel.”

“Pleasure,” Dean says. He realizes that perhaps staring at Gabriel’s tail waving lazily through the air is rude, and with a flush he yanks his gaze away. “I’m Dean.”

“Lose something, Dean?” Gabriel asks. He tips over until he’s lying on his side, head propped up on his hand and honey-colored hair falling once more over his brow. “Only I couldn’t help but notice you seemed to be looking around an awful lot.”

“I’m looking for my brother,” Dean says. “His name is Sam. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him anywhere.”

“You don’t?” says Gabriel.

“Don’t what?” asks Dean.

“Suppose.”

“Suppose?”

“Suppose,” Gabriel says, eyes narrowing and grin growing sly, “you visited the Mad Hatter. He’s got a way with rabbits, you see. He visits often with the March Hare, and he might even have seen that black rabbit around.”

“Black rabbit?” Though now that Gabriel mentions it, Dean does remember Sam mentioning a rabbit in a coat and pocketwatch. “Of course! Sam must be following the rabbit!”

“What rabbit?” asks Gabriel. Dean, by now used to the strange ways of the people who live here, ignores him.

“Did you say that the hatter is mad?” he asks instead.

“Did I?” says Gabriel. “Well, I must have. The Hatter’s as mad as they come.”

“I don’t particularly want to go among mad people,” Dean says, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh, you can’t help that,” says Gabriel, laughing. It’s a nice laugh, even if it’s directed at Dean. “We’re all mad here. It’s something about this place, you see. It _changes_ you. Even you’ll lose your head after long enough.” To demonstrate, Gabriel takes a good fistful of his own hair and pulls his head clean off. Dean flinches.

“Changes you?” he echoes. “So you’re not from here?”

Gabriel frowns and puts his head back, and absentmindedly pushes his hair out of his face. Dean guesses that he has no human ears, which would make it difficult to properly tuck his hair back.

“I was from a different world, once, I think,” Gabriel says, though he doesn’t sound entirely sure. “I remember I didn’t always look like this.”

He goes silent, lost in thought, and he begins to dissolve once more into the shadows.

“Wait!” Dean calls, and, startled back to himself, Gabriel becomes suddenly, jarringly corporeal. “Please, I need to get home before I begin to lose my mind, myself.” For he can feel it creeping up on him, like the sensation of his hair standing on end every time he notices that this place’s nonsense seems to him perfectly logical. “Will you help me find my brother? You’re the most sane person I’ve met so far.”

“ _I’m_ the most sane?” Gabriel asks incredulously. He bursts into laughter and topples neatly out of the tree. Dean reflexively reaches out to catch him, sending them both crashing painfully into the undergrowth. Gabriel sighs, wiping tears of mirth from his golden eyes. “You must not have met many people yet, then.”

“Maybe not,” Dean says, irritated. He pushes Gabriel off of him with a huff and pulls himself to his feet. His shirttails have come untucked again, and he shoves them back into his pants, unconcerned about propriety even as Gabriel watches curiously from his seat on the ground. “But even so, I could use a guide.”

“Well,” says Gabriel, “I’ll tell you this. I _did_ see your brother not too long ago.”

Dean perks up. “You did?”

Gabriel nods solemnly. “I directed him to the black rabbit, though I’ve no idea where the rabbit is now, so I have no idea where your brother is. If you want to find them, the Hatter is your best bet.”

Dean deliberates for a moment, shifting from foot to foot.

“They’re not dangerous, are they?” he asks eventually. “The Hatter and the March Hare?”

“Well.” Gabriel tilts his head, smiling with teeth. “They’re not nearly the _most_ dangerous thing you could run into here.”

“No, I suppose not,” says Dean, remembering the flowers and the mushroom and the way he had trouble, at first, staying his right size. “Will you take me to them?”

“Oh, all right,” Gabriel sighs. He gets gracefully to his feet. Dean is charmed to find that he’s quite a bit taller than Gabriel, even with the large ears poking from the top of Gabriel’s head. “After you.”

He gestures to one of the paths that snakes off into the woods. Dean eyes it warily. _It’s easier to be afraid_ , he muses, _now that I’m not alone anymore._

“Isn’t the point of a guide that they go first?” he says.

“I suppose you’re right,” says Gabriel, with an incredulous little laugh. “Very well then. And while I’m doing that—second chorus! _‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe_.” 

And as he sings, he leaps up and takes hold of a tree branch, and pulls himself nimbly up. Back he goes into shadow, until only the light glinting off of his teeth and reflecting in his eyes marks where he is. Leaving a trail of winking lights behind him, he starts down the path. Dean, still on the ground, follows him.

After a few moments, Gabriel’s singing has dissolved into quiet humming, and Dean feels alright interrupting him.

“Pardon me, but what is that song you keep singing?” he asks curiously.

“Oh, this old ditty?” Gabriel, his outline hazy and still a bit see-through, peers down at Dean with his ever-present grin. “Nothing you need to worry about just yet.”

“Yet? So I will need to worry about it later?”

“Well,” says Gabriel carefully, “I should think that would be up to you. I think we’d all prefer it if you did, however.”

This is puzzling enough that Dean goes quiet as he ponders, and it’s apparently disquieted Gabriel enough that he stops his singing. They walk silently for so long that Dean begins to worry his guide has quite forgotten all about him, though he must admit that it’s nice to walk in companionable silence. That’s when, of course, they round a bend and come to a little cottage in a clearing. Quaint and colorful, it looks less like the abode of madmen and more like the type of fairy tale home he’d find in his picture books as a child.

“Are you sure that we’ll find the Hatter and the March Hare here?” Dean asks.

“Quite sure,” says Gabriel, nodding decisively. He looks up and grins at Dean, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Can’t you hear the sounds of tea already?”

Dean listens. Faintly come the sounds of whimsical music, all chiming and winds, and even fainter than that is the sound of voices.

“Well? Come on, then, we’ve got all day,” says Gabriel.

“You mean we _haven’t_ got all day,” Dean corrects.

“We certainly do!” Gabriel draws himself up, affronted. His tail puffs up behind him, and he looks so put-out that Dean can’t help but laugh. “The Hatter’s in a bit of a tiff with Time at the moment.”

“Is he,” Dean says, writing this off as more nonsense. He eyes the house again and notices a gate in the fence. “Would it be alright for us to just invite ourselves in, do you suppose?”

“Suppose?” says Gabriel.

Dean puffs up his cheeks. “Oh, nevermind. Come on.”

He leads the way to the house, and then into the yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make my day! I'd love to know what you loved, hated, and want to see more of from this fic!
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> * Short comments
>   
> 
> * Long comments
>   
> 
> * Questions
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> 
> * Constructive criticism
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> This author replies to comments.
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> Note: If you don't want a reply for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with "whisper" and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	4. To the Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the Cheshire Cat have tea with the Mad Hatter, the March hare, and the Dormouse.

The music is louder back here, and Dean spots the Hatter and the Hare just after he notices the dozens of teapots whistling and dancing cheerfully on the table. The Hatter and the Hare don’t seem to notice when Dean and Gabriel take seats on the far end of the table, though that may be due to the thick steam clouding the air.

“Shy?” asks Gabriel, leaning entirely too close to Dean for comfort. Dean pushes him away gently with a hand on his striped shoulder.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Dean asks.

“Just that you’re so far from them,” Gabriel says. “You couldn’t possibly talk to them from here.”

“I don’t want to interrupt their song,” says Dean. “They seem to be in the middle of a birthday party.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and wrinkles his nose. “This is an _unbirthday_ party, so you wouldn’t be interrupting anything important, I assure you. Go on, then, and don’t be shy.”

So with Gabriel shooing him away, Dean gets up and moves to take a seat a bit closer. The Hatter and the Hare break off singing as soon as they notice him.

“No room! No room!” they cry, frantically waving him away. Dean looks back at Gabriel, who is laughing himself silly at the other end of the table.

“There is _plenty_ of room,” Dean says crossly. The Hatter and the Hare look at each other with wide eyes.

“Well,” says the Hatter eventually. “Have some wine.”

Dean looks around. “There isn’t any,” he says.

“No, there is not,” says the Hare.

“Then it was very rude of you to offer.”

“It was rude of you to sit down uninvited,” the Hare retorts. Gabriel breaks into another round of laughter. 

“I was simply hoping to ask if you’ve seen my brother,” Dean says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your birthday party.”

“Birthday party!” the Hare exclaims, while the Hatter smothers his giggles with a hand covered in scars and bandages. “No, no, this is an _unbirthday_ party.”

“I’m not sure what that is,” Dean admits.

“Really!” says the Hatter. Gabriel appears at Dean’s side.

“Oh, now you’ve got them started,” he says, though he’s watching with barely contained glee as the Hatter and the Hare climb onto the table, preparing themselves for what looks to be a truly spectacular musical number.

“Does everyone in this place sing?” Dean wonders.

“You learn to live with it,” Gabriel says.

“Now!” the Hatter says. “Statistics prove—prove that you’ve _one_ birthday.”

“Imagine that, just one birthday every year,” adds the Hare, buttering a roll with frantic strokes.

“Ah, but you’ve got three hundred and sixty four _unbirthdays_.”

“Exactly why we’ve gathered here to cheer!”

“I think I get the idea,” says Dean. He absolutely will not tell them that today is not his birthday. “Now, about my brother—”

“Oh, but Dean,” says Gabriel, blinking innocently when Dean glowers at him, his slit pupils dark and round. “Isn’t today your unbirthday as well?”

“It is?” cry the Hare and the Hatter.

“It is!” This from a little Dormouse, who, Dean guesses, was sleeping inside of a teapot.

“Unfortunately,” says Dean, “it is.”

“Well!” says the Hatter, sounding very pleased. The teapots break into a fresh bout of whistling and tooting, and the Hatter’s and Hare’s voices aren’t far behind. As focused as they are on their—admittedly rather catchy—song, they don’t notice when Dean turns to converse with Gabriel.

“You’re sure pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he says, put-out.

“I certainly am,” says Gabriel. He laughs at Dean’s expression and pats his cheek. “Oh, don’t worry yourself, my dear. Their song isn’t very long. It’ll be over before you know it.”

And to Gabriel’s credit, he’s right. It’s only a minute or two later that the Hare plops a rather large cake in front of Dean. Where he pulled _that_ from Dean doesn’t want to know, but he obediently blows the candle out. A little burst of light shoots from the candle into the air above the table, hovering for only a second before exploding into fireworks of all colors and sizes. Dean watches with wide eyes, awed despite himself.

As the sparks drift through the air, fizzling out, the Hatter and the Hare reclaim their seats. The Hare pours two cups of tea and passes them over to Dean and Gabriel. It’s got rather too much sugar for Dean’s taste when he sips, which means it must have an extraordinary amount in it indeed, for Dean normally likes his tea saccharine enough to catch flies. Gabriel, sipping happily away, doesn’t seem to notice the excessive sweetness.

“Now,” says the Hatter, “you were saying you sought some information of some kind?”

“Yes, and I was told you could help me,” says Dean, setting aside his tea for now. “I’m looking for my brother, who’s following a black rabbit around. You haven’t seen either of them, have you?”

At his side, Gabriel drains the rest of Dean’s tea and then peers into the cup. “Hmm,” he says. “Clean cup!”

“Clean cup!” the Hatter and the Hare cry. “Move down!”

The Hatter grabs the Hare, and the Hare grabs Dean, and Dean, alarmed, takes hold of Gabriel’s wrist, and they all move a few places down the long table.

“Would you like some more tea?” asks the Hare politely.

“I can’t take more if I haven’t had any yet,” Dean says.

The Hatter giggles. “Why, of _course_ you can. It’s easy to take more than nothing.”

Dean finds he can’t argue. 

“Now, something seems to be troubling you, my dear,” says the Hatter. Gabriel laughs quietly, and when Dean looks over at him, he finds that he’s still holding Gabriel’s wrist in a gentle grip. Flushing, he lets go and places both hands on the table.

“I vote you tell us the story,” says the Hare, dipping a china saucer into his tea like a biscuit. Dean winces, thinking of his poor teeth. He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted once again.

“Start at the beginning,” says the Hatter, immune to Dean’s irritated glower. When Gabriel snickers at him, Dean turns to glare at him instead. “And when you come to the end—stop.”

“Yes, I should think so,” says Dean waspishly. His patience, which he never had very much of in the first place, is quite diminished. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have the time to start at the beginning. I’ll start not too long ago, when I met Gabriel, and he told me—”

“Who?” the Hare interrupts. Dean’s hands clench into fists, and he hides them under the table cloth.

“Gabriel,” he snaps. “The person I came here with.”

The Hatter and the Hare look to Dean’s side and seem to notice for the first time that Gabriel is there, his head once again removed from his body and grinning up at them from the table. Gabriel’s got his elbows resting on it.

“Can you stand on your head?” he asks. The Hatter bristles, while the Hare scrambles off the table and leans as far back in his seat as he can.

“You!” says the Hatter. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” Gabriel agrees. “Enjoying tea?”

The Hatter splutters, too angry to speak for a moment.

“You’re acquainted?” Dean asks.

“We are,” says Gabriel, grinning nastily. “We met long ago, when they were very much ruder than they are now. They insulted me, and so I taught them a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Dean says, alarmed.

“This—this—this absolute _pincushion_ ,” the Hatter says, drawing himself up and pointing imperiously at Gabriel, “got us into an argument with Time over a misunderstanding _he_ caused.”

“Time is an old friend of mine, you see,” says Gabriel, winking. “And now it’s perpetually time for tea.”

The Hatter displays his watch. It shows the date, not the time, and Dean has no idea why until he says, “It is always six o’clock here—tea time.”

Dean is dumbfounded. He raises his cup to sip, but finds that there’s a neat hole in the bottom of the china and the tea has all drained into his saucer when he wasn’t looking.

“I am very sorry to hear that,” he says. “But, please, about my brother—”

“Release us this instant, Cheshire Cheat!”

“Cheat!” Gabriel’s grin grows dark, and his eyes flicker to the only pot on the table not cheerfully steaming away. Dean doesn’t know what he’s planning, but he’s certain it won’t end up well for him.

“Gabriel, don’t,” he says, but Gabriel ignores him.

“I’m no cheat,” says Gabriel, carefully putting his head back where it belongs.

“Gabriel, I must find my brother!”

At this Gabriel looks at him briefly, and seems to hesitate, but he shakes it off.

“I am a Cheshire _Cat_!” he says.

The little Dormouse explodes out of the teapot. “Cat?” it exclaims, and takes off down the table, spilling tea and jam and sugar everywhere. The Hatter and the Hare run after it, all three of them shouting all the while, and the teapots play their music louder to compensate. Under all of the din, Gabriel’s laughter is just barely audible, and when Dean turns to him furiously, it’s to find Gabriel clutching his stomach from laughing too hard and unconcerned with the way Dean’s glaring at him.

“That is it!” Dean says. He stands up so fast his chair topples over, but he doesn’t stop to pick it up as he storms out of the garden. So angry he can barely speak, he doesn’t bother to watch where he’s going, and so he’s quite a ways into the woods before he realizes that going and getting himself lost isn’t the best idea. He can still hear the cacophony from the Hare’s house, and he briefly considers going back, but Gabriel appears before he can make up his mind, still singing softly that little song of his.

“ _And the mome raths outgrabe_ ,” he croons, and only as the last note is petering out does he turn to look down at Dean from his perch in the tree. “You sure stormed off in a tizzy. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He laughs to himself at this clever wordplay, and Dean finally loses his grip on his temper.

“What kind of a guide are you?” he asks nastily. “You did nothing except make things worse for me, back at the Hare’s house. You directed me there—and it was quite a _stupid_ tea party, to be sure! But you sent me there for help, and all you did was make sure I never got answers.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes, his smile growing sharper. “I believe I did warn you that we are all quite mad, here in Underland.”

“Well, I am _not_ ,” Dean retorts. “And I would like to find my brother and get home while that’s still true, thank you very much. Being mad is no excuse for being rude, in any case.”

“Oh, and you know so much about being mad, do you?” Gabriel says. He uses his spot on the tree branch to his advantage, looming over Dean so that he is cast in shadow and the light reflects ominously off of his teeth and eyes. “Let me remind you that I don’t owe you anything.”

“You promised to help me!” Dean protests.

“I did no such thing!” Gabriel says. “You asked me to take you to see the Hatter and the Hare, and I did. I never said anything about remaining civil once we got there. I do not like them, and I will not pretend otherwise.”

Dean narrows his eyes angrily. “Mad or not, you are entirely unbearable.” He doesn’t _quite_ mean it; he enjoys Gabriel’s company, even if Gabriel does make him uncomfortable at times, but he’s just so angry at the moment that he finds himself aiming to hurt. Gabriel, curse him, simply takes it all in stride, smiling nastily all the while. “You are a liar and purposefully unhelpful, and you have no more decorum or brains than has my elbow.”

“Your elbow!” says Gabriel, rocking backward on his branch until he falls. To Dean’s consternation, he lands neatly on his booted feet. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then I suppose you don’t want my help after all.”

Dean realizes that he may have been a bit rash. “Wait, Gabriel,” he says, but Gabriel, already mostly see-through, ignores him. His face is set in a snarl; for once he’s dropped the ever-present calm he’s been portraying.

“Stay stuck here and may you never find your brother! I don’t care. Go back and try your luck with the Hatter and the Hare, and perhaps you’ll see for yourself why I cursed them in the first place. And to think, I thought _you_ might be the one to fulfill the prophecy.”

With one final glare, Gabriel disappears completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	5. Within the Tulgey Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abandoned by his guide, Dean soon becomes lost in the Tulgey Wood.

Dean stands stock-still for long moments, wondering if Gabriel will come back. Eventually he’s forced to accept that he’s successfully chased off the one person who was willing to help him in all this accursed place, and with that realization comes the sudden and alarming urge to cry. He sniffles and looks up until the tears go away. He refuses to cry, not here, and especially not over being abandoned by someone like Gabriel.

He composes himself, tucking his errant shirttails back into his pants and rolling up his sleeves. “Steady on,” he tells himself. “You were doing fine without him before, and you’ll be fine without him now.” He doesn’t know where to go from here, but one thing’s for sure: he is _not_ going back to that insipid tea party. There is a particularly loud shout from behind him, and he glares over his shoulder before walking off into the woods.

Immediately he knows he’s made a mistake. The trees seem to close in on him, the silence suffocating, and when his resolve falters and he turns back the way he came, it’s to find that he’s somehow already lost sight of the Hare’s house. His palms begin to sweat, and his breath comes quicker. The forest seems darker now, and he thinks he sees strange glowing eyes peering at him from between the trees.

“Steady, steady,” he murmurs to himself, even as his eyes dart from side to side, seeking the danger he knows must be out there. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end. This place is dark in a way the rest of Underland is not. He remembers the harmless confusion of talking to the door, the whimsy of listening to the flowers’ song, even the frustration of receiving advice from Absolem. He never felt like he was in danger then, but he certainly feels it now.

He hopes Sam is faring better than him, wherever he is. Sam is clever, much cleverer than Dean, and adaptable in the way that children often are. He should be fine. He’d _better_ be fine.

_You should worry about yourself at the moment_ , says some frightened little part of his brain. He’s been walking for a while now, long enough that his feet are beginning to ache and the back of his neck is beginning to sweat and he’s worried—really, truly worried—that he’ll never find his way out of here. 

Which is of course when he runs into the first of the strange creatures who inhabit this place. 

He thinks they’re just birds in a tree, at first, until he gets closer and realizes that this is just more of Underland’s nonsense. One of the birds has a tall, flat head and a polished mirror where its eyes should be. It watches him sightlessly while its companions, a few pairs of glasses with long, spindly legs, clamber down the tree and proceed to fight for the right to perch on Dean’s face. He wrinkles his nose and gently removes them.

“None of that, thank you,” he says. “Can you show me the way out of here?”

They don’t respond. Dean wonders if he’s finally found the few beings in this accursed place who _don’t_ speak. When it becomes clear that they won’t or can’t help him, he turns away, discouraged, and starts walking again. He doesn’t notice the little duck-thing until he steps on it, and its bulbous little body emits a grating honking sound. Angrily, it waddles away, a gaggle of smaller ones trailing after it.

He continues walking. The sound of rushing water reaches his ears, and he follows it until he finds a little stream. More strange birds are bathing happily in the water, though when he calls out to them they take to the air and alight on a branch above him, glaring. Disconcerted, he means to leave them be, but as he’s turning away he catches sight of a wooden sign nailed to the tree.

“Tulgey Wood,” he says, reading it aloud. As if this is some sort of signal, other signs materialize on the trees around him, though perhaps he simply wandered past them unknowingly. The largest one catches his attention. “‘Don’t step on the mome raths’. Mome raths?”

That sounds familiar, and it doesn’t take him long to place it as a lyric from Gabriel’s song. Before he can control his thoughts, he finds himself wishing that Gabriel were here. As exasperating as he can be sometimes, it would be nice to have a friendly face around, and especially a friendly face who seemed to know his way around the woods so well.

He shakes his head as if to dispel those errant thoughts. “ _He_ left _you_ ,” he tells himself. “You must rely on yourself to get out of here.”

He begins walking again and almost immediately scampers backward as dozens of little furry creatures spill forth from the ground. The mome raths, he presumes. They gaze up at him, then around at each other, and in a startling display of coordination, they form a rough arrow and begin scuttling away. 

“Wait!” Dean calls, hurrying after them. They weave in and around the underbrush, and Dean struggles to keep up with them until they suddenly stop, their arrow pointing at the beginning of a worn down dirt path. Dean perks up. “Finally! Thank you for showing me the way,” he says to the mome raths, who bob their little heads in something like a bow before burrowing back into the earth. 

Dean wastes no time in stepping onto the path. He even sets off in a jog, as much as he hates running. There’s no telling where the path will lead, but it has to go _somewhere_ , and at this point any place is better than this dark, dreary, menacing wood. Dean quickens his pace until he is full on running, skidding around the path’s right curves and refusing to step a single foot off, even when the path makes a little loop and doubles back on itself, as it often does.

He rounds a bend, and stops dead in his tracks. There’s a strange dog-like thing walking toward him, sweeping away the path with the bristles growing from its muzzle. Where it steps, the grass grows up to swallow the path, and in its place is underbrush so well-grown that it’s like there was never a path there at all. When the dog-thing gets to Dean it huffs up at him, obviously annoyed, before sidestepping him and then continuing on his way. 

Dean’s determination wavers. He takes a few hesitant steps forward, then stops and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. With the air of a man being marched off to the gallows, he walks along where the path used to be, until eventually his memory fails him and he’s forced to admit that he’s once again walking blind. His feet slow to a stop almost of their own accord. The feeling of being watched returns tenfold, and for a moment it’s all Dean can do to stand there and tremble, trying and failing to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders to look smaller.

His breath comes in quick pants and the urge to cry comes upon him again, fast and ruthless like a tidal wave. Lower lip trembling, Dean stumbles over to a nearby tree and collapses back against it. Tears pool in his eyes and spill over onto his cheeks almost before he slides to the ground, and then he’s crying into his knees, great gasping sobs that his pants can’t entirely muffle.

When the worst of the sobs subside, leaving him hiccupping and shaky, he lifts his head and wipes his tears—a rather useless endeavor considering that there are still tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Still, the air feels nice and cool on his hot skin. He thinks there are eyes watching him from the depths of the woods, but he no longer finds it in himself to care.

“I’m never getting out of here,” he says, his voice trembling and desperate, even to his own ears. Saying it out loud makes it seem all the more true, and he closes his eyes against yet more sobs at the thought. He’ll never see his brother again, nor his parents. He’ll never again feel sunshine warming his skin. He’ll never go _home_.

He can’t quite muffle his sobs after that.

As distracted by his grief as he is, it takes him a while to notice that the trees are beginning to glow again, that same soft, colored light he’d noticed before. Gabriel arrives with less fanfare, this time, silent for once. He clears his throat to make himself known, and Dean tilts his head back to see him. Gabriel is perched among the branches of the tree Dean’s leaning against. Even upside down, Dean can make out the uncomfortable expression on his face.

Too sad to feel properly angry, the most vitriol Dean can muster is a sullen, “What do _you_ want?” He scrubs his face with his sleeve, thankful that Gabriel’s appearance seems to have shocked his tears into stopping.

“Dean,” Gabriel murmurs, obviously at a loss. He leaps nimbly from the tree and gets to his knees in front of Dean to put them at eye-level. Dean sneers half-heartedly in response. “Dean,” Gabriel says again. “I’ve come to apologize.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his mouth falling open. In the next moment he narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“You don’t strike me as the type to apologize,” he says, though the harshness of his voice is ruined by the way he hiccups halfway through his sentence. Embarrassed at being caught so vulnerable, he crosses his arms and turns away, his jaw set stubbornly.

“I’m not, usually,” Gabriel says, tentatively. It strikes Dean as wrong, that Gabriel should be tentative, but he can’t deny that it’s gratifying, too. He wonders why Gabriel would bother apologizing to him in the first place. “Though usually I don’t think I’m in the wrong.”

“And what do you think of this case?” Dean asks. He faces Gabriel once more, glaring.

“That I was every bit as insensitive as people always accused me of being,” Gabriel murmurs. “And every bit as cruel.”

He looks so miserable that Dean finds his ire softening.

“Why do you seem to delight in preventing me from finding my brother?” he asks. “You’re not like the other people of this place. You’re more—” He searches for the word. “You’re more cognizant. I find it difficult to believe you’d be so contrary for no reason.”

Now Gabriel looks shocked. “I’m surprised you’d give me so much credit,” he says. “But yes, there is a reason. A pretty good one, too, if I may say so, though as it stands, I _am_ sorry about how I acted. It’s nothing personal, really, and as I watched you try to find your way out of here, I came to realize that I _do_ regret causing you so much pain.”

“You were watching me?” Dean asks. He’s not sure how he feels about it, except to be glad he wasn’t being paranoid when he felt eyes settle upon him.

“The Cheshire Cat is tied inextricably to the Tulgey Wood,” Gabriel explains. “I am aware of most of what goes on in here, even if I don’t wish to be.”

Dean nods slowly. “What was your reason, then, for how you behaved before?”

Gabriel takes a deep breath. Something akin to nerves settles upon his features, and Dean thinks that he’s never looked more sane, or more human, or more approachable.

“There is a prophecy,” he starts.

“Yes, you mentioned it before,” Dean says, thinking back on what Gabriel said before disappearing, earlier. “You also mentioned that I might be the one to fulfil it.”

“Well,” says Gabriel, a bit wryly, “I’m not entirely sure about that. But I had hoped you would be, just as the people of Underland hoped that _I_ would be the one to fulfil the prophecy when we became trapped here a long time ago.”

“We?” Dean says. “You were here with someone else?”

“My cousin,” Gabriel admits. “He followed me here, and when I failed to fulfill the prophecy we both became trapped. Over time we became more and more a part of this world. I took over as the Cheshire Cat when the previous one was killed; my cousin became a servant under the employ of the Red Queen of Hearts.”

Dean is quiet for a moment as he tries to absorb this. “Why did you fail?” he asks eventually. “What does this prophecy entail?”

“You’ve heard part of it before,” Gabriel says. Dean has a flash of understanding. He sits up against the tree.

“Your song,” he says, and Gabriel nods.

“I only ever sang part of it.”

“Tell me the rest,” Dean says. “Tell me all of it.”

Gabriel looks, if possible, even more uncomfortable, but nonetheless he begins speaking.

“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimbal in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwocky, my son—the jaws that bite, the claws that catch. Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch. He took his vorpal sword in hand; long the manxome foe he sought. So rested he by the Tumtum tree and stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the Tulgey Wood, and burbled as it came. Through and through the vorpal blade went snicker-snack. He left it dead, and with its head he went galumphing back. And when thou slayest the Jabberwock, come to arms, our beamish boy. Oh frabjous day, callooh callay, and everlasting joy.”

Halfway through speaking, Gabriel closed his eyes and his voice grew slower and steadier, until he seemed to have put himself in some sort of a trance. Dean couldn’t look away if he wanted to. Now, though, Gabriel blinks himself awake and looks at Dean as if waiting for his reaction. Dean ponders this prophecy for a moment. This morning he would’ve dismissed it as poetic nonsense, but he’s changed a few times since then.

“Jabberwock?” he asks, and Gabriel grimaces.

“A great, horrid beast in the employ of the Red Queen,” he explains. “I had hoped you might be the one to slay it, but it doesn’t matter now.”

“Does it do much harm?”

“It does,” says Gabriel, “what the Red Queen tells it to. She’s got a lot of power here in Underland. In fact, I will take you to her. If anyone would know where your brother is, it would be her.”

Dean’s heart leaps. “You mean you’re going to help me?”

Gabriel looks away, his cheeks darkening, and Dean can’t help but be charmed. “It was cruel of me to leave you so carelessly, before,” Gabriel says. “And it was even crueler to hinder your quest to find your brother. I know what it’s like; my cousin and I were separated when we first came here, and I didn’t find him for a long, long time. So yes, Dean, I’ll help you.” He looks Dean in the eye, steadfast despite the blush staining his cheeks, and he puts a warm hand on the place where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder. “And I’m really very sorry for how I treated you before.”

The last of Dean’s anger melts away. “Apology accepted,” he murmurs, and before Gabriel can react, he reaches forward and pulls him into a hug. Gabriel goes stiff for only a moment before he wraps his arms properly around Dean’s shoulders and hugs him back just as tightly. After a moment they separate and get to their feet.

“What now?” Dean asks, brushing dirt off of his pants.

“Now,” Gabriel says, his lips quirking up into his familiar, easy grin, “we go bother the Red Queen of Underland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Concerns? Comments? Leave them down below! I love hearing from my readers :)


	6. Around the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach the castle, but it is curiously empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This is the final chapter of Part One. Enjoy!

“I didn’t think there was a formal monarchy here,” Dean says. Gabriel pauses and cocks his head, and there’s a pause where Dean waits for him to respond.

Eventually he says, “Underland’s political history is a long and complicated one.”

“I’ll bet,” says Dean, though he really hadn’t expected a place like this to have much of a formal political history at all. “So how do we get to see this Queen?”

“Well, we could go this way,” Gabriel muses, and the trees to their left glow with soft purple light. “Or that way.” Behind them, the trees glow dark blue.

“Which way is faster?” Dean asks. Gabriel’s ears perk up.

“Well, Time’s always been a friend of mine, but if _that’s_ the issue, then we can, of course, just take the shortcut.”

He knocks three times on the trunk of the squat tree Dean was leaning against, and with a slow, lazy creak, a door swings open. Dean stares, though he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d first come to Underland through a door like this, after all. Through the door he can make out grass and shrubbery and a gray, lifeless sky.

“After you, my dear,” Gabriel says, bowing, and Dean cautiously steps through. Gabriel follows him, and the door closes, sealing them into what Dean’s now realizing is a hedge maze. The shrubs are tall and thick, and beyond them, hazy against the colorless sky, mountains rise like smudges of charcoal on a canvas.

“This is the Queen’s domain?” Dean asks.

“The outskirts of the castle grounds, at least,” Gabriel says. He grins and circles a finger near his temple. “The Queen’s a bit of a nutter, I’m afraid.”

“I’d assumed,” Dean says, watching him from the corner of his eye. It was meant to be acerbic but it just comes out fond instead.

“Well,” Gabriel says brightly. “You’re lucky I know the way through the maze, otherwise you’d be hopelessly lost. Come along, then.”

He floats along on his back, his hands under his head, his foot cocked on the knee of the opposite leg, looking as though he’s reclining in a hammock and not hovering uncertainly in the air. Dean—firmly on the ground where sensible people reside, thank you very much—follows behind him. After a while he has to admit that Gabriel was right; without a guide, he _would_ be lost. Everything looks the same to him, and he’s only able to distinguish one part of the maze from another when they emerge into what he guesses is the center.

It’s something like a garden, with large rose bushes growing all along the perimeter. Discarded croquet mallets litter the space in the center, but what catches Dean’s attention first is the blood. Huge puddles of the stuff are slowly seeping into the grass. It’s even splashed up on the hedges and the rose bushes, dyeing the white blossoms a garish shade of red.

Dean feels the blood drain from his face. Even Gabriel jerks to a stop in the air, his easy grin vanishing as his face goes slack with horror.

“Gabriel,” Dean says, his voice faint.

“She has a bad habit of beheading people,” Gabriel murmurs, “but this is a bit excessive, even for her.”

“She has a bad habit of _what_?” Dean yelps. Gabriel flinches as if startled and, cautiously, floats toward the nearest puddle. As Dean watches, his nose wrinkled in horror, Gabriel touches the ground with the tips of his fingers and then rubs them together. His expression goes slack with surprise, and then he laughs, looking around.

“It’s paint,” he says, and bursts into laughter again. “Look, white roses! They must have tried painting them red.”

Heart pounding, Dean exhales carefully. “Your queen seems a bit unstable,” he says.

“Oh, she’s violent and insane,” Gabriel says brightly. “But the bloody big-head will get what’s coming to her sooner or later. Let’s keep moving, for now. The castle is farther ahead.”

Gabriel returns to the ground, and together they walk back out into the maze. The shock of walking onto what he thought was the scene of a massacre stays with Dean, though, and the back of his neck tingles as they navigate the twists and turns of the maze. Gabriel doesn’t seem bothered, but then again, Gabriel can fly and disappear to wherever it is he goes. Dean, walking behind Gabriel, studies him. Even after Gabriel left him earlier, Dean finds that he’s not as worried about Gabriel leaving again as he probably should be. His apology had been sincere enough, and the fact that he’s here at all is a point in his favor.

After a while they come upon the castle, a towering thing made of faded red brick overgrown with vines that creep up the four towers at the castle’s corners. Gabriel leads him to what Dean suspects is a servant’s entrance, small and nearly hidden among the ivy. Dean wonders why he’s bothering at all, when it’s not like there are any guards around. In fact, he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of anyone since they arrived.

“I admit I don’t know how a castle is supposed to be run,” he says, his voice echoing in the stone hallway they find themselves in, “but shouldn’t we have seen someone by now?”

“Yes, actually,” says Gabriel. He shrugs. “Perhaps they’re watching a beheading. We can go to the kitchens to ask. There’s always someone in the kitchen.”

Dean is slightly nauseated at the thought of beheadings—and especially once he considers that his brother might be here somewhere. But he follows Gabriel down yet more corridors and through more high, arched doorways, and by the time they reach the kitchens in the lower levels, Dean’s seen so much red decor he’s almost surprised to find that the kitchen’s been decorated in tasteful browns and white.

There _are_ people here, and Dean tries not to stare at whom he suspects is a guard, even if he is a tall playing card with a thin spear in his hand. The guard and the kitchen staff all blink owlishly at Gabriel and Dean when they enter. Belatedly, the guard scrambles and hefts his spear up to point between Gabriel and Dean. It would almost be menacing if he wasn’t so clearly incompetent.

“Hullo,” says Gabriel. “Where _is_ everyone?” He glowers at the guard until he lowers the spear sheepishly.

It’s one of the kitchen staff who answers, her voice timid and soft. “They’re at the trial, Mr. Cheshire Puss.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow at the nickname, though Dean can’t tell if it’s because he likes it or hates it.

“Aye, the King convinced Her Majesty to give the tot a trial rather than a beheading,” says a busboy. Dean tries not to stare. He’s a _lizard_.

“Really?” Gabriel says, and then he bursts into delighted laughter. “Oh, this is simply delicious.”

“What’s so interesting about a trial?” Dean asks.

“Dean, my dear, from what you know of the Queen, does she seem like the type of person who’d give people trials?” Gabriel says, and Dean concedes the point with a shrug.

“Hold on a moment,” he says, turning back to the busboy. “You said ‘tot.’”

“Aye, I did,” he says. “A boy who showed up here in the comp’ny of Their Majesties’ own majordomo.”

“The rabbit,” Gabriel adds. Dean feels faint.

“You mean my brother is on trial?” he exclaims.

“He might not be, anymore,” one of the scullery maids says in what she obviously thinks is a comforting tone.

“Yeah, and if he’s not, it means his head’s in a basket,” the busboy says with a snort. Gabriel starts to snicker until he sees Dean’s face. Dean doesn’t take it personally.

“We need to go,” he says. “Immediately.”

“You’ll find them in the courthouse, I think,” says a kitchen maid with a sniff.

“She has a _courthouse_?” Gabriel says, delighted.

“Was storage up until an hour ago,” the maid says. “It’s on the south side of the castle, somewhere. The Three can show you.”

The card guard, who does indeed have a three printed in his corners, stands to attention.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” he says, and marches purposefully out of the kitchen. Gabriel floats behind him, still giggling, and Dean pauses just long enough to say, “Thank you for your help” before he follows after them.

“You may call me Trey,” says the card. “And what might I call you?”

“Cheshire Cat, at your service,” Gabriel says, doing a complicated little bow in the air.

“I’m Dean,” Dean says. “Do you know much about the trial? Can you tell me what my brother did?”

“I’m not rightly sure, but I imagine it wouldn’t take much,” Trey muses. “The Queen’s temper is frightfully short, I’m afraid. You know, you and your brother don’t look very much alike.”

“Well, that’s just not true at all,” Gabriel says.

“How do you mean?” asks Trey.

Looking carefully straight ahead, his voice as earnest as Dean’s ever heard it, Gabriel says, “They have the same determination in their eyes. I’ve never met anyone else who’s quite so capable as them.”

Dean flushes, even as a pleased grin splits his face. Trey looks curiously between them.

“Ah,” he says sagely. “Congratulations are in order, I should think. The Duchess will be most pleased, Cheshire Cat.”

Dean’s blush darkens. Gabriel looks startled.

“Congratulations?” he says. “For what?”

Trey looks at Dean.

“If he doesn’t know by now, then I won’t be the one to tell him,” Dean says.

“Quite,” says Trey.

Gabriel floats over to Dean, hanging upside down in front of him so that their faces are mere inches apart. Dean feels the alarming urge to kiss him up until Gabriel says, “Tell me what?” 

“You are an incredible moron, you know that?” Dean says. Gabriel pouts, and Dean pushes him away until he’s floating somewhere above and slightly behind them.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. The castle remains emptier than Dean would’ve expected, but every so often they’ll run into a pair or trio of guards, all of them cards like Trey. The guards watch Dean and Gabriel suspiciously, but neither Gabriel nor Trey seems bothered by it, so Dean ignores it as best he can.

After a while they come to a large set of arched wooden doors. There are two more guards stationed outside, and they cross their spears in front of the doors.

“Halt!” the Ace shouts. “Who goes there?”

“Mercy me, it’s the Three!” says the Five.

“I say, is that Trey?” 

“Oh, good,” says Dean dryly. “They rhyme.” Gabriel bursts into giggles behind him.

“Good to see you, gents,” Trey says. “Be good lads and let us in, would you?”

“We’d love to, you see,” says the Ace apologetically.

“But we just can’t, Three,” the Five finishes. “The Queen’d have our heads.”

“Someone painted her roses red!”

“She’s completely lost her top.”

“Six and Seven got the chop,” the Ace says, drawing his thumb across his neck meaningfully.

“Dreadful,” Dean mutters. Then, louder, he says, “We’re witnesses.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to him.

“I beg your pardon?” the Five says.

“We are witnesses,” Dean says again. “For the trial. You can’t have a trial without witnesses, you know.”

“He’s right, he’s right.” Trey and the Ace nod in agreement.

“Well,” the Five says suspiciously. “I suppose so. But, listen, before you go: If you get in trouble, don’t put the Queen on my case! If she wants to know who let you in, tell her it was the Ace.”

The Ace lets out an offended squawk. “That’s rich, coming from you! You’re as dishonourable as Two!” he says.

“Oh, and off they go,” says Trey to Dean and Gabriel. “You’d better go on in. They’ll be at it for a while.”

“Thank you,” says Dean, and while the cards are distracted, he and Gabriel push open the heavy doors and slip inside.

The courthouse is large and opulent, and filled to the brim with people packed into fine wooden benches. Just at first glance, Dean sees animals, cards, the Hatter and the Hare, and a few human-looking people, all of them clamouring loudly. At the front of the courthouse, behind the judges stand, a tiny man in a robe shouts for order, banging a gavel against the stand. Next to him, a large woman with an even larger head is screaming bloody murder. They’re both wearing crowns; Dean assumes this is the King and Queen.

“Fantastic!” Gabriel says, looking around with wide eyes. He seems right at home in the chaos, but Dean’s heart is pounding with fear for his brother. He looks to the front again, and this time he spots a familiar figure—gangly in the way teenagers often are, his hair shaggier and darker than Dean’s, his clothes dirt-smeared and hopelessly damaged.

The King finally catches sight of Dean and Gabriel loitering by the back.

“I say,” he calls, “who are you?”

Every head in the crowd swivels to look at Dean and Gabriel, silence descending alarmingly quick. Dean’s face flushes under their scrutiny, but he only has eyes for one person. The familiar figure turns around.

“Sam!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments, questions, concerns? Leave them down below! Comments and kudos make my day and encourage me to post faster! 
> 
> Coming up: We finally get to see what Sam's been up to this entire time ;)


	7. The Black Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: A Younger Brother's Wanderings
> 
> Sam follows the Rabbit into Underland.

Sam is not surprised to find that Dean’s managed to doze off in the middle of a sentence, though he _is_ a bit annoyed. They’d just gotten to the Plantagenet dynasty, what Sam considers perhaps the most interesting part of England’s long history. Sam sighs in mock disappointment.

“Uncultured,” he tells his brother’s sleeping form, even though Dean’s doing quite well in university, from what their parents have said. Well, he might as well take a break, since Dean’s got the book with him in the tree.

Sam pulls himself to his feet with a groan and stretches. Bones lifts his head and wags his tail sleepily, and Sam gives him a pat as he passes by. They’re near the edge of the Winchester property today, deep in the recesses of their mother’s garden. Curious, Sam sets off on a walk. He spends most of his time indoors, and he’s never been to this part of the property before. Before he’d been distracted by Dean’s lesson, but now he’s free to explore to his heart’s content.

And explore he does. Leaving Dean and Bones behind, Sam picks his way carefully through the haphazardly placed flower beds his mother loves, and carefully he edges around shrubbery and short, squat trees. It’s a nice day; the sky is blue and nearly cloudless, though the breeze keeps the air from growing too hot. When Sam comes across a large patch of wildflowers, he gives into the impulse to lie down and watch the clouds meander by.

Perhaps whatever idleness struck Dean has gotten to him, too, because the next thing he knows, he’s blinking awake, disoriented and sleepy. He frowns. Something woke him up, but nothing seems different. The garden sounds as it’s always sounded, at any rate—peaceful and quiet.

He sits up and looks around. Something is telling him he’s no longer alone, and he’s inclined to trust that feeling, as his instincts have never led him wrong before. Nothing seems amiss at first, and he begins to relax, laughing at his own paranoia, when he spots a figure walking through the flowers. His first thought is that it’s Dean, but Dean doesn’t have black hair, and he doesn’t wear strange brown coats, and he _definitely_ doesn’t have tall black rabbit ears protruding from the top of his head.

Sam stares, unconcerned with how rude he’s being. The figure—the rabbit?—doesn’t seem to notice him. He hurries by, close enough for Sam to see his furrowed brow and the pocketwatch clutched in his hand, before he’s gone. Sam sits gaping for only a moment before scrambling to his feet and taking off after him.

“Excuse me!” he calls. “Sir!”

The rabbit turns back, sees Sam, and grimaces.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t the time!” he says, brandishing his watch. “I’m late!”

He hurries on, ignoring Sam when he calls after him again. Sam thinks that he must be very familiar with this part of the garden to be able to move so fast through the foliage, and he does his best to keep up and not trip. Eventually they reach one of the tallest trees in the garden, a towering oak with roots that protrude from the ground like arms. The rabbit disappears into a large rabbit hole situated neatly among the roots, and Sam comes to a stop on his hands and knees at the mouth of it. He ignores the dirt that will surely stain his clothes. This is far more important than laundry!

Faintly, he hears Dean calling his name.

“Dean!” he calls.

“Sam! Hold on, I’m coming!”

A few moments later, Bones trots up to him, tail wagging, and Dean follows not far behind. Sam looks up at him when he approaches, an excited grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, “Aren’t we supposed to be learning about history?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Yes, until you fell asleep,” he says, and glowers when Dean ruffles his hair.

“Playing in the dirt, are we?” Dean says. He notices the rabbit hole for the first time. “What the hell is that? Why are you digging in the dirt?”

Sam is a bit offended at this accusation. “It wasn’t me,” he says. “It’s a rabbit hole.” Bones noses around the edge of the hole and lets out a soft bark, as if he, too, can recognize the otherworldliness that lingers around this place. Sam decides right then that he’s going to find that rabbit if it kills him.

“Let’s go back,” Dean is saying. “I left the book and my jacket over there. We should finish before we’re called in.”

“ _You_ want to get back to studying?” Sam says. 

“Better than staring down a rabbit hole for no reason,” Dean says, and it might even have sounded mean if he wasn’t so clearly nervous. His gaze keeps flicking from Sam to the rabbit hole and back again. _So you know there’s something special about it, too_ , Sam thinks triumphantly. “There’s probably not even rabbits down there, and even if there were, Bones is far from a hunting dog.”

Any other time, Sam would leap to defend his loyal dog’s honor, but he’s distracted at the moment. Dean used to play with him when they were younger, telling him fairy tales and hunting elves in the garden with him. Now he looks as though he’d like to be anywhere else but here, staring into what might be a magical rabbit hole.

Sam turns away. “There _is_ a rabbit,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“There _is_ a rabbit,” Sam repeats, louder, “and it was wearing a coat.”

Dean looks suspicious. “A what? Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam sighs. “I know how it sounds, but I’m telling the truth. I saw a rabbit run in there, and it was wearing a coat and a pocketwatch.”

Dean looks toward the house, and Sam can practically hear him planning on running for their parents. Sam resists the urge to pout. He’s been such a killjoy since he started university!

“Sam,” Dean says slowly.

“I’m not mad,” Sam says, because he recognizes that tone, has heard it enough times when his peers get started teasing him at school.

“It’s hot,” Dean says, standing up. “And we’ve been out here for a while.”

“I’m not mad!” Sam says again.

“I didn’t say you were!” Dean says. “But you might just be seeing things. The heat can mess with your mind.”

Sam’s well aware of what heat stroke can do to people, which is why he’s positive he doesn’t have it. “I’m not seeing things, either.”

Dean turns away, still talking, but Sam ignores him and uses the opportunity to shove himself head-first into the rabbit hole. Bones sets up a cacophony of barking behind him and Dean calls his name, but Sam only scuttles further into the tunnel.

“How far does this thing go?” he mumbles. It’s very dark in here, but after a while it widens enough that Sam can feel his way around with his hands. The tunnel is poorly constructed; the dirt grows looser and looser. Sam’s hand slips, and with a yelp, he tumbles over a ledge and finds himself plummeting down into the dark.

His stomach lurches. The air shrieks as it tears through his hair, around his clothes. He doesn’t scream, but not for lack of trying; it’s like he can’t catch his breath, and he doesn’t know if the pressure in his chest is from the fall or his fear.

A dark shape looms up in front of him and he scrambles to grab it. Smaller shapes break off, open up, and he realizes they’re umbrellas as he grabs onto one and opens it. His descent slows until he is floating leisurely along, though it takes a bit longer than that for his heartbeat to return to normal.

“Wow,” he says, looking with wide eyes into the darkness below him. “Mr. Rabbit!”

The rabbit, if he can hear Sam, doesn’t answer. Sam thinks through his options and realizes he doesn’t have many—only two in fact. He can hold on to his umbrella and see where it takes him, or he can let go and find out the faster way just how deep this rabbit hole really is. It’s not really a choice at all.

More dark shapes loom up out of the darkness, but Sam doesn’t reach out to investigate them. His palms are sweaty and his grip is difficult enough to maintain on its own; he doesn’t want to tempt fate by moving too much. With nothing to see and nothing to do, though, the silence begins to weigh on him. He’s never shied away from quiet—has often resorted to hiding from his family just to get some peace around his own house, in fact—but the silence here grates on his nerves. The sound of his own breathing isn’t one he’s ever thought of before, but now it’s the only thing he can focus on.

It feels like ages later when Sam’s feet touch the ground. He stumbles as he finds his footing, and when he doesn’t fall he smiles to himself in the darkness. The smile slowly slides off his face when the situation starts to sink in.

“Mr. Rabbit?” Sam calls, his voice a breathy whisper. There’s no reply. Perturbed, Sam puts his hands on his hips and looks down at his feet while he thinks. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that he can see his feet at all, which means there must be light somewhere, and hopefully a way out of here. He looks around and spots a faint yellow glow coming from the distance.

He smiles to himself, pleased, and thinks, _Where there’s light, there’s sure to be people. Maybe one of them has seen the rabbit_. 

Except as he walks cautiously toward the light, arms extended in front of him, he finds no one else. Instead there’s a long hall, lit from above by light fixtures screwed into the walls at even intervals. Eyes wide, Sam walks along the hall. His footsteps echo loudly, and he finds himself almost tiptoeing as he tries not to disturb the quiet around him. He’s not sure where he is, but he’s clearly not in his mother’s garden anymore, and he gets the feeling that whatever people inhabit this world would hate to be disturbed by too much noise.

At the end of the hall is a door. Behind that is another door, and then another, and another. Bemused, Sam opens doors, each progressively smaller than the last, until he finds a door so small he has to crouch on the floor to reach it.

“Oh!” Sam says when he notices the door staring at him. It wiggles its doorknob of a nose and appears to be waiting for something. Sam, who was raised to be polite, even to a door, decides to introduce himself. “Hello, I’m Sam Winchester.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” the door drawls. Sam waits a beat, but it seems to have said all it’s going to say.

“Do you have a name?” Sam prompts. The door chortles.

“My dear child, I am a _door_. Just who am I supposed to be introducing myself to?”

“Well,” says Sam seriously, “me, for one thing. My mother says it’s very rude not to introduce yourself when someone else tells you their name.”

The door makes a face. “I suppose so,” it says. “Suspicious things, mothers. They have much too much muchness for their own good.”

Sam doesn’t quite know what the door means by this, but he doesn’t want to be rude. “Quite,” he says. “Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for a black rabbit who may have come through here.”

“Black rabbit, black rabbit,” the door mumbles to itself, eyes screwed shut in thought. After a moment it makes a triumphant noise. “I do believe I have seen your black rabbit!”

“You have?” Sam says, delighted.

“See for yourself.” The door opens its keyhole mouth wide, and Sam peers through. It’s dark on the other side, and perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but it seems like the very ground itself is moving and shifting in a never-ending cycle. A drop of water lands on Sam’s nose, a briny breeze plays through his hair, and Sam realizes he’s not staring at the ground at all, but an ocean. And backlit against the stormy grey sky is a familiar pair of ears.

“That’s him!” Sam says. “Did you know you’ve got an ocean behind you?”

“Do I?” The door peers up at him, fascinated. “That’s funny. It’s anyone’s guess what’s behind me at any given time.”

Sam nods sagely. “I suppose you can’t look through your own keyhole,” he says.

“Exactly.” The door beams. “I assume you want to get through.”

“Yes, please,” says Sam, “I’ve already come all this way chasing that rabbit. It’d be silly of me to stop now.”

“Of course, of course. I’m afraid at the moment you’re quite impassable, but that’s an easy enough fix. The key’s back there, on the table, and the bottle, too.”

“Table?” Sam looks over his shoulder. A round little glass table appears behind him, and on it is a big golden key and a small bottle marked with a paper tag. The tag says “Drink Me” in pretty calligraphy. “This isn’t poison, is it?” 

The door blinks at him. Sam sighs, uncorks the bottle, and drinks.

“Wait, but you forgot the key!” the door says. Sam, busy plummeting toward the ground, barely hears him, and it’s only when he falls to his knees, now disconcertingly small, that he looks up and realizes that he left the key on the table.

“Oh, no,” Sam says. The bottle is taller than him now, but there’s still some liquid in it. Sam eyes it, but the door clicks its tongue.

“I wouldn’t,” it says. “Who knows how small you’ll get? Have a biscuit instead.”

Sam looks at the little tin of iced biscuits at his side. They say “Eat me” in glossy red icing, and they taste like strawberry when he takes a bite of one. This time, as he shoots up toward the ceiling, he blacks out. When he blinks awake a moment later, his mouth twists in irritation. 

“Well, now I’m certainly too big,” he says. The door chuckles.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Try the bottle again.”

Sam does. He doesn’t drink quite so much this time, and he sips slowly, so that instead of falling he floats gently toward the ground. On the way down, he sets the bottle on the table, a mistake he regrets when he realizes he’s left the key on the table _again_. 

“I feel as though I should be smarter than this,” Sam says.

“You certainly are not exhibiting much muchness, you know,” the door says. 

Sam gives up. He stomps to the door and judges the distance between him and the knob. 

“Excuse me if this is rude,” he says, “but how wide can you open your mouth?”

“Oh, I’ve no idea,” the door says, delighted. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

The keyhole stretches so wide the door is forced to close its eyes. The hole is plenty large enough for Sam to fit through.

“Perfect,” he says. “Hold that for a moment, please.”

With a little running start, he jumps up and grabs hold of the edge of the keyhole. The door grunts in surprise but obligingly keeps its mouth open as Sam climbs up. The smell of the ocean is strong up here, and in just a moment his hair is damp with sea spray.

“Well,” Sam says. “I suppose this is it.”

The door mumbles something which might be a goodbye. The movement dislodges Sam’s tenuous hold on the keyhole, and, with a little gasp, he tumbles headfirst into the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who's remained patient during this gap between chapters. As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think of the story so far; I'd love to hear your thoughts, questions, concerns, etc. :)


	8. The Caucus Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds the Rabbit and begins his journey through Wonderland.

The water is cold; Sam’s breath freezes in his lungs, and for a moment it’s all he can do to keep hold of his breath. He fights his way back to the surface and looks around, blinking sea water out of his eyes and gasping for breath.

The door is nowhere to be found.

 _What is it about this place that makes me abandon my common sense?_ Sam wonders just before a wave closes over his head and drags him back under the water. A moment later he resurfaces, gagging. His clothing is weighing him down and he shucks off his coat without hesitation, leaving him in just his shirt and waistcoat. If he didn’t have to kick to keep himself afloat, he’d pull off his shoes, too.

It seems like an eternity later when a large, moving shape detaches from the darkness and approaches. The singing comes not long afterwards, faint at first, but growing steadily louder as the birds come into view. The most notable is a dodo in an overcoat, sitting atop the legs of an overturned pelican and being propelled by a determined little puffin.

“Help!” Sam shouts, but the surf is too loud and his voice is lost to the wind. The birds pass on without once looking his way. A moment later, Sam is almost run over by a group of little frogs riding a log like it’s a canoe. Sam heaves himself out of the water and swings his leg over the wood, dislodging the frog at the very back. It falls into the sea with a surprised croak as Sam takes its place and takes hold of its abandoned oar. 

“I’m sorry!” he calls as the log cuts its way through the surf. They row for ages; Sam helps, because he feels bad about not doing his part. His arms are exhausted by the time they finally run aground on a dark and dreary beach. The only light around is the inviting glow of a fire nestled amongst a scattering of boulders not too far away. The Dodo from before is there, smoking and singing merrily as it directs a group of animals running laps below it. The frogs eagerly join them, dragging Sam along.

Still gasping for breath from his trip through the sea, he can barely keep up with the animals as they run in circles around the Dodo’s rock. It only takes a moment for the Dodo to notice him.

“I say,” he calls, “you’ll never get dry that way.”

“Get dry?” Sam replies, “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“But of course!” says the Dodo, brandishing his pipe self-importantly. “This is a caucus race, my dear!

Sam finds an opportunity to escape the dizzy ring of animals, but he is too astonished to say anything for long moments.

“A caucus race!” he says eventually, “That’s a political term! It’s not an actual race, you know. And no one could get dry like this, with the tide coming in so often..”

No sooner do the words leave his mouth than a wave crashes over their heads, painfully briny and cold on his already chilled skin. Sam clenches his eyes shut and digs his feet into the sand to avoid getting dragged back out to sea as the wave recedes, and when his head finally breaches the water, he gasps and blinks salt out of his eyes. He feels rather like a half-drowned puppy, shivering and pathetic.

The animals are still running. The Dodo, Sam is annoyed to notice, has stayed perfectly dry upon his rock, and is now chortling down at the new animals who have joined his asinine exercise. Sam’s eyes widen. One of the animals—though Sam’s not really sure he can call him an animal at all—is familiar, even bedraggled and waterlogged as he is.

“I really must be going,” the rabbit says. “I’m late!”

The animals seem to have trapped him in their race just as they trapped Sam when he first washed up on the beach. Sam pushes his wet hair back from his forehead and waits. As the rabbit stumbles past him, Sam grabs his arm and pulls him out of the little groove the animals have worn into the sand. The rabbit falls into Sam with a surprised huff, and it’s all Sam can do to keep them both upright.

“Are you alright?” Sam asks, holding onto the rabbit’s upper arms until he’s got his feet back under him.

“Yes, thank you,” the rabbit says, “I don’t know what I—oh. You’re the boy from the garden, aren’t you?”

Sam grins, pleased at being recognized. “I am. I was curious about you, you know.”

The rabbit wrinkles his nose. “About me? Whatever for? I’m really not very interesting.”

Sam disagrees, but he’s too polite to say anything out loud. Even compared to the carousel of animals on the beach, Sam finds the rabbit dreadfully interesting. The rabbit is about Sam’s height, though perhaps a bit older. There’s some seriousness in his face and in his big droopy blue eyes, that speaks of experience beyond his years.

Or perhaps Sam is projecting. He steps carefully back.

“Did you follow me down here?” the rabbit asks.

“I did, though I must admit it was not a very well-thought out plan. I’ve found you, and that was really all I was hoping to accomplish.”

The rabbit gives him a small smile. “It’s not good for people from Upperland to be here. I can help you home, but I do have some business to attend to. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to tag along, so I can keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t mind,” Sam assures him. “I have nothing better to do. Is this world really all that dangerous?”

The rabbit tilts his head. “It can be,” he says, “It isn’t usually. The most dangerous part about it is that it gets into your head. There aren’t many people from Upperland here, but those who are have become nearly indistinguishable from the people who were born in Underland.”

“Underland,” Sam says, trying out the feel of the word on his tongue. “And what are the people here like?”

“Well,” says the rabbit dryly, “you’ve seen for yourself already.”

He gestures to the caucus race as another frigid wave rushes over the shore. Sam and the rabbit scurry backward to avoid getting wet again.

“I see,” says Sam. For the first time, he feels worry settle heavy and hot in his stomach. “I would very much appreciate your help in getting back home.”

“Of course.” The rabbit dips his head. “My name is Castiel.”

“Sam Winchester.”

They shake hands.

“If I may ask,” Sam says, “what exactly are you late for?”

“Work,” says Castiel somberly. “I am the queen’s majordomo, and she likes me to announce her presence when she has her afternoon games of croquet.”

“The queen? I didn’t know she was a monarch in Underland, as well.”

“Oh, no, I’m not talking about _your_ queen.” Castiel tilts his head toward the forest, and Sam takes the hint. They walk together into the trees. “I mean the Red Queen of Hearts.”

“I see,” Sam says. He normally likes politics, and this world’s politics should fascinate him, but he’s distracted by the forest. It’s dark in here, and it should be cold, except his clothes have somehow already dried. “I suppose the Queen has a castle?”

“She does,” says Castiel, before he is distracted by something half-hidden among the trees. “Oh, good, a path!” There is indeed a little dirt road snaking its way through the trees. Sam thinks Castiel must have very good eyesight to have spotted it. Where the path begins—or where they come across it, at least—two signs have been nailed into the trees, though they point the same way. 

_To Tweedledum’s house,_ says one, and the other proclaims, _To the house of Tweedledee._

“I hope we don’t run into them,” says Castiel, studying the signs. “They’re delightful to pass an afternoon with, but they’d delay us if we came across them now. The castle is our second stop; first, we must go to the house of the Duchess, so I can change my clothing.”

“The Duchess keeps your uniform?” Sam asks as they start on the path.

“I’ve my own house here, but the Duchess was something like a mentor to us, long ago. We lived with her for a while, and she remains a good friend of ours.”

“Ours?” Sam repeats.

“My cousin and I,” Castiel explains, and leaves it at that. Sam is even more curious now, but he realizes this conversation has been terribly one-sided so far.

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you with these questions,” he says, “I’m just very curious about you and this world.”

“It’s no bother at all,” Castiel says, giving Sam a little smile. His eyes crinkle up at the corners when he does. They come across another set of those wooden signs, both pointing in the same direction. The path has yet to diverge, and he’s beginning to suspect it never will. _I wonder if Tweedledee and Tweedledum live in the same house,_ Sam wonders.

They round a bend in the path, and Castiel suddenly stops, throwing an arm out to hold Sam back, too. Sam flushes at the feeling of Castiel’s hand on his chest. He forces himself to tear his gaze away from where Castiel’s fingers are clutching the fabric of his vest and instead looks for whatever caught Castiel so off guard.

A little ahead of them, two fat little men are standing directly in the middle of the path. From here, they look identical. Sam guesses that they must be Tweedledum and Tweedledee, and that they’re probably twins.

“Well,” says Castiel, “so much for avoiding them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Let me know down below! Comments and kudos give me the motivation to release chapters more quickly!


	9. The Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Castiel are waylaid by the twins, and Sam makes the acquaintance of a familiarly feline face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a rather long poem which I greatly enjoy. If that isn't your cup of tea, you can scroll past the poem without missing anything important.

“It would be rude not to say hello, at the very least,” says Castiel. Sam, a little put off by the twins’ unnatural stillness, walks a step behind Castiel as he approaches them. Castiel clasps his hands behind his back and sketches a little bow. “How do you do?”

Sam peers at them curiously. One has “Dum” embroidered on his collar in pale blue thread; the other has “Dee.” _I suppose they have “Tweedle” round the backs of their collars,_ he thinks. He’s so busy studying them that he jumps when they suddenly speak.

“If you think we’re wax works, you ought to pay, you know,” says Tweedledum. “Wax works weren’t meant to be looked at for nothing, nohow!”

“Contrariwise,” adds Tweedledee, “if you think we’re alive, you ought to speak.”

“I’m very sorry,” says Sam. Following Castiel’s example, he bows his head. “How do you do?”

“And now we shake hands,” says Tweedledum, and before Sam can react, the twins have grabbed each other’s hands, and Sam’s and Castiel’s hands, and Sam and Castiel clutch each other for dear life. They dance in a circle, and from somewhere in the forest, the faint sound of fiddles provides music. Sam is breathless and laughing by the time they finally stop.

“I hope you’re not too out of breath,” he says to the twins, who had to stop first.

“Not too much, thank you _very_ much for asking.”

“Much obliged, much obliged!”

Castiel, wide-eyed, seems to come back to himself. “Yes, well, thank you for that, boys, but we really must be on our way. I’m late for something, you see.”

“I know what you’re referring to,” says Tweedledum, glancing shrewdly at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “But it isn’t so, nohow.”

“Contrariwise,” says Tweedledee, “if it was so, it might’ve been, and it it _were_ so, it would be, but it isn’t, so it ain’t. That’s logic, you know.”

Sam nods. Castiel looks pained.

“Boys,” he says, and seems to run out of things to say.

“Perhaps we could continue this another time,” Sam suggests, “We really must be going.”

The twins peer at him curiously.

“Do you like poetry?” Tweedledee asks.

“Oh, no, we do not have the time for this,” says Castiel.

Tweedledee ignores him. “What shall I recite?”

“‘The Walrus and the Carpenter’ is the longest,” says Tweedledum. Tweedledee nods solemnly.

“ _The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might_ ,” he begins, and Castiel, frowning and cross, interrupts him.

“You Underlanders!” he exclaims, stomping his foot on the ground. “Always so contrary! Well, I’m not going to wait around for you to finish. Good day!” He steps around them and continues down the path. Sam makes to follow him, but the twins step in his path.

“Very rude, very rude!” Tweedledee says.

“You haven’t said goodbye yet! And we really _must_ tell you of the Walrus and the Carpenter!” Tweedledum says. They each take one of his arms and steer him forcefully off of the path, further into the woods.

“Castiel!” Sam calls, alarmed. Castiel looks back at them, and his eyes widen.

“Sam!” He hurries back toward them, but the woods are already swallowing them up. “Sam, find the Duchess! I will meet you there!”

In only a moment Sam can’t see him at all for the trees, nor can he hear him. He has the overwhelming suspicion that if he were to retrace his steps, the path would be nowhere to be found.

“Now,” says Tweedledum. “Where was I?”

They push him to sit on a fallen tree and take a place in front of him, like actors on a stage. This time, Tweedledee sings his poem:

_The sun was shining on the sea,  
Shining with all his might;  
He did his very best to make  
The billows smooth and bright—  
And this was odd because it was  
The middle of the night._

_The moon was shining sulkily,  
Because she thought the sun  
Had got no business to be there  
After the day was done—  
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,  
“To come and spoil the fun!”_

_The sea was wet as wet could be,  
The sands were dry as dry.  
You could not see a cloud because  
No cloud was in the sky;  
No birds were flying overhead—  
There were no birds to fly._

_The Walrus and the Carpenter  
Were walking close at hand  
The beach was fine from side to side  
But much too full of sand—  
“If this were only cleared away,”  
They said, “it would be grand!”_

Here Sam tries to rise. “That was a lovely poem,” he says, “but I must find the Duchess.”

“We’ve hardly finished,” says Tweedledum, pushing Sam back into his seat. He nods at Tweedledee to continue, and Tweedledee clears his throat exaggeratedly before speaking. 

_“The time has come,” the Walrus said,  
“To talk of other things!  
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax,  
Of cabbages and kings!  
And why the sea is boiling hot,  
And whether pigs have wings.”_

_“O Oysters, come and walk with us,”  
The Walrus did beseech.  
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,  
Along the briny beach.  
We cannot do with more than four,  
To give a hand to each.”_

_But Mother Oyster winked her eye  
And shook her heavy head  
She knew too well this was no time  
To leave her oyster bed.  
“The sea is nice; take my advice,  
And stay right here,” Mum said._

_But four young oysters hurried up,  
All eager for the treat.  
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,  
Their shoes were clean and neat—  
And this was odd, because, you know  
They hadn’t any feet._

_Four other oysters followed them,  
And yet another four;  
And thick and fast they came at least,  
And more, and more, and more—  
All hopping through the frothy waves,  
And scrambling to the shore._

_“The time has come,” the Walrus said,  
“To talk of food and things.  
Of peppercorns and mustard seeds  
And other seasonings!  
We’ll mix them all together  
In a sauce that’s fit for kings.”_

_“I weep for you,” the Walrus said.  
“I deeply sympathize.”  
With sobs and tears he sorted out  
Those of the largest size,  
Holding his pocket handkerchief  
Before his streaming eyes._

_“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,  
“You’ve had a pleasant run!  
Shall we be trotting home again?”  
But answer there came none—  
And that was scarcely odd because  
They’d eaten every one._

“Oh, my,” says Sam. “That was a very sad poem.”

“Yes, but you see there’s a moral to it,” says Tweedledum.

“A very good moral, if you’re an oyster,” Sam agrees. “But I am not an oyster, and I must be going.”

Tweedledee and Tweedledum act as if they didn’t hear him.

“Another recitation,” Tweedledum announces. “It is called ‘Old Father William.’”

“Oh, no,” says Sam. “I haven’t the _time_. Good day.” 

And off he walks into the forest, back the way he thinks he came. A few minutes later, he begins to rethink his decision. It seems like he’s only managed to walk farther into the forest. It’s darker here, and the trees are stranger—shorter and more gnarled, growing in pretty shades of purple and blue and pink that seem to glow with some dim inner light.

He realizes that the trees really _are_ glowing, marking the progress of something that’s making its way closer and closer to Sam. On the wind floats a voice, singing a strange, hypnotic little song.

“ _‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe_ ,” the voice sings. “ _All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe_.”

Sam peers up into the trees. It takes him a moment to realize that something is peering _back_ at him with a pair of golden eyes that glow like fireflies in the darkness. A bright grin materializes underneath the eyes, and then Sam can make out an entire figure. It’s something like a cat, in the same way that Castiel is something like a rabbit.

“Hello,” the cat says curiously. “And just who are you?”

“My name is Sam. Perhaps you could help me. You see—”

“I do not see,” the cat interrupts. Sam is startled into silence for a moment.

“Quite,” he says when he’s recovered himself. “I’m looking for a black rabbit. His name is Castiel, and he told me to look for him at the home of the Duchess.”

At this, the cat’s face spasms a little, but he puts on his grin soon enough.

“Believe it or not, I’m on my way there myself,” he says. “I can take you. Simply follow me.”

Despite his words, the very next thing the cat does is disappear into the shadows. The faintest echo of his voice floats by on the wind, however, and the trees are still glowing in sequence, marking the cat’s path. With no other options, Sam follows the cat as closely as he can.

Not too much later, they come across a well-kept little manor house in a clearing. Behind it is a beautiful garden, so meticulous and large that Sam supposes only someone rich and important could live here. _The Duchess’ house, I presume._ His guide, he notices, has completely disappeared.

Sam approaches the house, and from the opposite direction comes a rather fishy footman in bright red livery. Hanging back near the trees, Sam watches as the footman knocks smartly on the front door. Another footman answers, and his wide, frog-like eyes go even wider when he sees who it is. The Fish produces a scroll.

“For the Duchess,” he says. “An invitation from the Queen to play croquet.”

The Frog accepts the scroll. “From the Queen,” he says. “An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.”

They both bow so low that their powdery wigs tangle together, and by the time they’ve sorted themselves out, the door has closed. The Fish runs off, and the Frog settles on the steps, looking so ridiculous and forlorn that Sam can’t help but laugh as he approaches. He goes up to the door and knocks, and the Frog turns his gaze up to the sky.

“There’s no use in knocking,” he says. “Firstly because I’m on this side of the door, and won’t be able to answer. Secondly because they’re making such noise inside that I doubt anyone can hear you.”

Sam presses his ear to the door. Faintly he can hear extraordinary noise: screaming and sneezing, and every now and then the sound of pottery crashing against the floor.

“How am I to get in, then?” Sam asks. “I was instructed to meet the black rabbit here.”

The Frog acts as if he did not hear Sam. “Knocking would make more sense if the door was between us, even if I was still outside. Then I might open the door and let you _out_ , you know.”

“Sir, please,” Sam says, exasperated. “How am I to get in?”

“ _Are_ you to get in at all? That’s the first question, I think.”

It is, but Sam doesn’t admit it. The door suddenly flies open. A plate whizzes by, nearly taking off the poor Frog’s nose, and shatters on a tree across the clearing as the door slams shut again. The Frog doesn’t react.

“I think I shall sit here until tomorrow,” he says, “or perhaps the day after that.”

“But what am I to do?” Sam asks.

“Oh, anything you like, really,” says the Frog.

_Why must everyone here be so contrary?_ Sam thinks, glaring at the Frog. _There’s no use talking to him; he’s perfectly idiotic._

Without another word, he snatches the scroll from the Frog’s lax hand, opens the door himself, and walks inside.


	10. The Duchess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets the Duchess.

As soon as Sam walks into the house, the scent of pepper hits him so strongly that he has a sneezing fit, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet until it’s over. Eyes watering, Sam covers his nose with his elbow. The thin cloth of his sleeve helps keep the worst of the pepper away. The noise is louder in here, and worse. Sam follows it further into the house until he comes across a kitchen, full of smoke which hovers uncertainly near the ceiling. 

A cook stands at the stove, furiously mixing what appears to be a pot of soup with altogether much too much pepper in it. It’s even in the air, so that the Duchess, seated on a stool in the middle of the kitchen, sneezes occasionally. The poor baby in her hands is sneezing and screaming in a continuous stream of noise, though neither the cook nor the Duchess takes any notice of it. Every so often, the cook turns round and hurls whatever she can get her hands on at the Duchess. As Sam watches, she chucks a small bowl at them; it nearly hits the baby and shatters against the wall.

Sam flinches. “Oh, do be careful,” he says. The Duchess raises an eyebrow at him. He sneezes.

From the corner comes laughter in a familiar voice. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that baby,” says the cat. He’s lounging against the wall by the hearth, his eyes glowing like golden embers through the smoke and his tail waving lazily through the air.

“You,” says Sam. “I never did thank you for leading me here, did I?”

“Being me is a thankless job,” the cat says. His eyes widen, and he grins. “Duck!”

Sam does. A plate flies through the air where his head had been a moment earlier. The cat bursts into laugher. Sam’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms the way his father does when he’s upset, though the effect is ruined when he sneezes again. The cat laughs harder.

“And just what are you grinning about?” Sam asks. The Duchess startles.

“Oh, that’s just what he does, dear,” she says, “He’s a Cheshire Cat. They grin, you know.”

“I didn’t know that, actually,” Sam says.

“You don’t know much,” says the Duchess, “and that’s a fact.”

Sam’s mouth twists in displeasure. The cat, still giggling, pushes off the wall.

“Well, I’m off,” he says. “Your rabbit should be here soon. Tell him I said hello. Good day, dear Duchess.”

“Thank you again for your help,” Sam says. The cat waves a careless hand at him and vanishes. His grin is the last thing to go.

The Duchess clears her throat and holds out her baby to Sam.

“Would you like to nurse it?” she asks. Sam barely manages to keep his mouth from falling open.

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,” Sam says. “I’m a boy, you see.”

The Duchess blinks at him. The baby sneezes again, and lets out a howl so loud that Sam flinches and takes it just to try and get it to stop.

“It may be impossible, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still do it.”

Sam narrows his eyes and bounces the baby. It’s a heavy little thing, and it wiggles and wails in his arms so that he struggles to hold onto it.

“Yes it does,” he says. The Duchess’ mouth goes pinched.

“Little boy,” she says, “you clearly have not had enough practice doing impossible things. Why, sometimes I do as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”

“Quite,” says Sam. With some difficulty, for the baby’s sobs have turned to violent hiccups, Sam hands her the scroll. “You’ve been invited for croquet with the Queen.”

“Oh, then I _must_ go get ready!” She steps gracefully down from her stool and hurries out of the kitchen. The cook chucks a frying pan at her that just barely misses her head. “Do mind my baby!”

Sam looks at the cook. She hefts a long knife threateningly.

“Let’s go outside,” Sam tells the baby, hurrying back to the front door. “Some fresh air might do you some good, and they’re sure to kill you if I leave you there any longer.”

The baby stops crying, thankfully, and looks up at him with small, watery blue eyes. It’s got an upturned nose and cheeks that bulge outward. Sam doesn’t know much about babies, but this one strikes him as looking rather like a pig.

He doesn’t realize he got used to the peppery quality of the air until he steps outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air. Even the baby looks around in wonder.

“That is better, isn’t it?” Sam says. The baby grunts. Sam hefts it higher in his arms and walks around the house. The Fish is still there, staring dreamily up at the sky.

“Has it been a day yet?” he asks. The baby lets out a loud squeal.

A tremendous crashing comes from the trees. Sam watches with wide eyes as Castiel stumbles out into the clearing, looking around wildly.

“Duchess!” he shouts. “Come quick, the twins have stolen my—Sam!”

Castiel nearly trips over his feet switching directions. He runs right to Sam and throws his arms around him.

Laughing, Sam says, “Mind the baby!”

“I guarantee that is no baby,” Castiel says. He pulls back, but keeps his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Yes,” he adds, looking down at the bundle in Sam’s arms, “that’s a pig.”

Sam holds the baby out and eyes it critically. “Hmm,” he says, and sets the pig on the ground. It waddles off, snorting happily. “How did I make it here before you, Castiel?”

“I’ve told you before that Underland is strange. I’m glad to see you’re alright, Sam,” Castiel says, and smiles softly at Sam. Sam smiles back. Castiel’s eyes go wide and startled before he looks down, his cheeks darkening. “Well,” he says, stepping back. “I need to go change my clothes, and then we can go.”

“I must warn you,” Sam says as they walk back toward the house, “the air quality is a bit— _peppery_.”

“Oh, dear,” sighs Castiel, “Cook is making soup again.”

They pass the Frog and walk into the house. Both of them sneeze.

“Help me open the windows, please,” Castiel says. Sam nods, and they split up. Castiel heads for the stairs, while Sam walks immediately to the kitchen. The cook is gone but the soup still bubbles away on the stovetop. Sam takes it from the fire and puts a lid on it, and he opens the door that leads to the garden. Then he walks from room to room, opening every window he can find. 

In the sitting room he finds the Duchess herself, dressed now in a flowing red gown. She glances at him imperiously when he comes in.

“It occurs to me that you’re now acquainted with both of my charges and yet I’ve not been introduced to you,” she says.

“Actually, I wasn’t introduced to the Cheshire Cat,” Sam says. “I still don’t know his name.”

“Contrary boy,” the Duchess says. She smiles, her lips red and her eyes soft. “That will not serve you well when you meet the Queen.”

Sam blinks. “I am to meet the Queen?” he asks.

“Her Majesty has invited me to play croquet with her on the castle grounds this afternoon,” she says. “And your guide is her official majordomo. If you are to go with us, then you are to meet the Queen.”

“Oh.” Sam considers this for a moment. “I’ve never met royalty before. I’m not sure I’m dressed properly for it.”

“You’ll be alright,” the Duchess says. Her eyes flick to something over Sam’s shoulder and her smile widens.

“Just try not to offend her,” Castiel says. “And you’ll be fine.”

Sam looks over his shoulder and blinks in surprise. Castiel tugs at his coat self-consciously.

“It is a uniform,” he says. “I certainly did not design it.”

Sam lets his gaze wander over the uniform in question. It’s a strange sort of fashion, to be sure—a long black coat, shirt and pants in dark red, and boots that come nearly to his knees, all of it trimmed with bright red hearts. He smiles.

“It suits you,” he says, “You look very handsome in it.”

Castiel looks down at his feet, a pleased flush stealing over his cheeks. The Duchess giggles.

“You two must be off,” she says. “The Queen will not wait for you. I will join you as soon as I find my baby.”

Sam’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to tell her what happened, but Castiel takes his arm and interrupts him.

“Very well, Duchess. We’ll see you at the castle, then.” He looks at Sam meaningfully, and Sam allows Castiel to tug him out of the house.

“I feel badly about releasing her baby into the forest,” he says as they walk back out into the trees.

“It was a pig, not a baby,” Castiel says, “And it’s alright; she’ll forget about it soon enough. She always does. I consider it a part of her Underland charm.”

“You keep mentioning things like that,” Sam says. “How strange this place is, and how odd its inhabitants. May I ask what, exactly, you mean by that?”

They walk in thoughtful silence for a moment. Sam can see no discernible path beneath their feet, but Castiel seems to know exactly where he’s going nonetheless.

“Underworld does not work the same way that Upperworld does,” he says finally. “There’s some strange magic here that ensures everything follows the ridiculous laws that govern this place. It’s _mad_ , is what it is, and sooner or later everyone who ends up here becomes mad, too, if they weren’t already.”

Sam looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t seem mad to me,” he says.

Castiel smiles. “No, I suppose not. But I fear whatever strange magic sustains this place is taking its toll on me. I’ve fought it for so long that it’s beginning to wear me down.”

“You were not born mad, then?”

Castiel goes quiet again, and Sam fears he’s overstepped. But it’s only a moment later that Castiel answers him, his voice soft. “I was not born in Underland at all. My cousin and I—you might’ve met him already; he resides in the Tulgey wood, where Tweedledum and Tweedledee dragged you off.”

“The Cheshire Cat,” Sam realizes. “He says hello, by the way.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he does. He and I were human once, born in your world. We became lost here long ago, though he succumbed much faster than I did to the madness of this place.”

Sam bites his lip. Castiel looks so forlorn that Sam can’t resist reaching out to touch the back of his hand gently with his fingertips. “And there’s no way to stop it?”

“Well, the Queen should be able to send you home, and that should save you,” Castiel says. He turns his hand over to catch Sam’s, and their fingers intertwine. He looks up finally, and smiles. “As for us, well. There’s a prophecy about a hero from Upperland who will one day slay the Jabberwock and save us from this world’s tyranny.”

“What’s a Jabberwock?” Sam asks.

“Never you mind,” says Castiel. “Look, this is one of my cousin’s shortcuts. He’s got dozens of them stashed throughout the forest. It’ll take us right to the Queen’s castle, if we’re lucky.”

They’ve stopped in front of a tree. Sam can’t tell what makes it so special; it’s just as squat and gnarled and colorful as the rest of this forest. “And if we’re unlucky?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Castiel says. “Perhaps something dangerous. My cousin can be unpredictable at times. But I’m late as it is; I can’t afford to not try this shortcut out.” Castiel knocks on the wood with his free hand. The bark swings open like a door. Beyond it lies grass and sky and god knows what else. “I’m sorry to be risking your life as well as my own.”

He squeezes Sam’s hand, and Sam squeezes back. “That’s all right,” Sam says. “What’s an adventure without a little bit of danger?”

Together, they walk through the doorway and into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Have any questions, concerns, incoherent screaming? Let me know down below! This story is still being written, so who knows? Any suggestions or predictions just might make it in ;)
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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> Note: If you don't want a reply for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with "whisper" and I will appreciate it but not respond!


	11. The Red Queen of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Castiel arrive at the castle. Sam is invited to play croquet with the Red Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you had told me even a month ago that in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty that destiel would become canon, I simply would not believe you. past me really galaxy-brained when making this fic sastiel and debriel instead of sabriel and destiel like I normally do.
> 
> fuck you, kripke, you bald motherrfucker.

The castle is large and squat, with four towers flying flags at each of its corners. It’s handsome enough, Sam supposes, with pretty green ivy creeping up the walls, though the red brick stands out almost garishly against the pale gray sky and lifeless grass.

Castiel leads him through the front gate and into a courtyard lined with strangely shaped statues. One of them moves, and Sam realizes they’re not statues at all, but playing cards the size of men, holding spears and shields. Guards, he realizes. 

“Don’t mind them,” Castiel says lowly. “They’re mostly useless without direction from the Queen.”

“This queen of yours sounds interesting,” Sam says, and Castiel laughs.

“That’s an understatement, I fear.”

They enter the castle proper and walk down long stone hallways lined with high arched doors and tapestries. Castiel stops in front of one of the doors, though how he can tell one door apart from any other is anyone’s guess.

“I’m not sure if it would be better for you to wait somewhere or if you should go with me to meet the Queen,” Castiel admits.

“Well, I’ll have to meet her eventually,” Sam points out. “And I’m rather ace at croquet, if I do say so myself.”

Castiel sighs. “That’s what I’m afraid of. The Queen doesn’t take too kindly to being bested at anything.”

“So I’m to throw the game, then?” Sam frowns, but shakes off his misgivings soon enough. “I suppose if it’s the only way to get home, I have no choice.”

Castiel smiles at him. “Good. Let’s go and meet the Queen, then. She won’t start the game until I announce her, and I’m late as it is.”

He leads Sam through more hallways and more arched doors, until finally they emerge in something like a garden. The air is thick with the cloying scent of roses. Sam wrinkles his nose.

“The Queen plays croquet out here?”

“Not here exactly,” Castiel says. “See that archway? It’s the entrance to the Queen’s maze. She plays croquet in the center of it.”

“Oh,” says Sam. “Why?”

“I’ve no idea,” Castiel says. “Shall we go?”

He takes Sam’s hand and entwines their fingers, and he leads the way into the maze. Sam soon loses track of where they are. There are so many turns and they double back so many times it’s a wonder Castiel even knows where he’s going. Still, it isn’t too much later that they emerge in the maze’s center, a large and well-kept lawn. Everything for croquet is set up, and the lawn is crowded with card guards and well-dressed nobles. The Duchess isn’t here, though Sam thinks nothing of it until he sees Castiel frown as he looks around.

“Try not to draw too much attention,” Castiel says lowly. “I’ll be back soon.”

He leaves Sam near the edge of the lawn while he goes to the center and clears his throat. The guests straighten up in anticipation.

“Presenting the Marquess of Hearts!” Castiel says, and the nobles clap politely as a man with an enormous nose steps forward to greet them. Sam supposes Castiel will introduce them all, and he finds himself growing bored at just the thought. His gaze wanders. A commotion behind the hedge catches his attention, and after only a slight hesitation, he walks through a break in the hedge and goes to investigate.

In a little dead end near the lawn, he finds three card guards squabbling over a bucket. The rose bush in front of them is nearly drenched with red paint, though it’s obvious the roses were originally white.

“Excuse me,” Sam says, and the cards freeze. The one with a number two printed in his corners narrows his eyes.

“A strange boy in white and blue, and sure as I am Number Two, you’re a spy, though you’ve been seen! Do you work for the fake white queen?” he says. Sam, caught off guard, takes a moment to respond.

“I’ve never heard of any white queen,” he says. “I’m a guest of the Red Queen, actually. I simply came to see what all the fuss was about.”

The other card, an Eight, shoots him an apologetic look. “I offer you apologies, young sir. We’re in a bit of a bind, to be sure. The Queen loves her roses, though they must be red. As you can see, we planted white instead.”

“Painting them’s the only thing to do,” adds the Ace. “Now, I’d leave, if I were you. You don’t want to be caught with us or the Queen will pitch a deadly fuss.”

No sooner do the words leave the card’s mouth than a shadow falls over Sam. He turns and sees a woman who he assumes is the Queen. She’s got an enormous head, which only magnifies the furious expression on her face. Sam hurries to get out of her way, and he nearly runs into Castiel, who’s just come around the corner. The other nobles follow curiously.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Queen thunders. A short little man in an overly large crown peers around her.

“It appears as though they’re painting your roses, dearest,” he says. The Queen’s face turns an alarming shade of red, and the cards throw themselves to the ground, pleading. Sam feels sick, and he clutches Castiel’s arm tightly so he doesn’t do something stupid, like stand up to the Queen.

“ _Off_ with their heads!” the Queen shouts. The cards gape at her. Their pleading grows more desperate as they’re dragged off by a handful of guards. The Queen is unmoved. As soon as the cards are gone and their voices fade into the distance, she turns to her entourage with a blinding smile on her face. “Well. Let’s play croquet, shall we?”

Murmuring in assent, the nobles shuffle back to the lawn. The Queen, with the little king at her side, stops in front of Sam and Castiel.

“Who are you?” she asks, peering down at Sam. “You are dressed in an entirely unappealing hue, I hope you know.”

“My name is Sam Winchester, Your Majesties,” Sam says, sketching a quick bow, though that’s difficult to do with Castiel clutching onto him. “And I’d rather be dressed in red, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“You are a beggar?”

“No, not at all,” Sam says quickly. “I come from a rather wealthy family. They live—ah, far from here.”

“Hmm,” says the Queen. “Well, if you’re wealthy and a friend of my dear majordomo, I suppose I’ll allow you to join us. Do you play croquet?”

“I do, though not very well, I’m afraid.”

This makes the Queen smile. “Nonsense. I’m sure you play just fine. Come, join us.”

She walks off without another word, dragging the king behind her. Sam exhales shakily and turns to Castiel, though they do not let go of each other’s hands. 

“Our monarchy is rather tyrannical, I’m afraid,” he says, his voice quiet.

“Is she really going to behead those poor guards over some flowers?” Sam asks.

“Most likely. She has a terrible habit of beheading people.”

A thought occurs to Sam. “Castiel,” he says slowly, “where’s the Duchess?”

Castiel lets out what might be a laugh and might be a sob. “She’s been arrested. Luckily for her, she’s too important for the Queen to simply behead her on a whim, but now she faces a lifetime in prison for some petty slight, I’m sure.”

Sam absorbs this for a moment. “I don’t really want to play croquet with her,” he says quietly.

“I know, but she has invited you personally, and she won’t take kindly to you refusing her.” Castiel gives his hand a comforting squeeze. “You must get her to like you. After the game, we’ll ask her to send you home.”

“I’m scared, Castiel,” Sam admits. Castiel’s face falls, and he pulls Sam into a tight hug. Sam clutches him back just as desperately.

“I’m scared, as well,” Castiel says. “But I’ll not let anything happen to you. We must get you home before she discovers who you are. The prophecy foretells her downfall. If she learns you’re from Upperworld, she’ll never let you leave alive.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” Sam says with a levity he doesn’t truly feel. “All I have to do is lose at croquet and keep the conversation on the Queen. How hard can that be?”

Castiel doesn’t respond.

The game has already started by the time he and Sam rejoin the court, though Sam is slated to go last since he is just a guest. Castiel has to leave him; technically, he’s working. He goes to stand by the card who is keeping score, leaving Sam near the edge of the lawn as he waits for his turn. Sam looks around surreptitiously and fidgets with the flamingo they’ve given him instead of a mallet. All of the court is playing with flamingoes, though none of the other players have to fend theirs off from their pockets like Sam does.

Eventually he grows impatient and grabs the bird by its beak, holding it immobile. It gives a strangled squawk of protest but settles soon enough, and Sam even grows comfortable enough to lean against it like it’s a pillar. He hurriedly straightens when the king approaches.

“Your Majesty,” he says, and sketches a quick bow. The king waves him off.

“We don’t often get visitors here, and especially not visitors who are acquainted with our majordomo. We’d always got the impression he was rather alone.” They look at Castiel, who’s standing somewhat apart from the crowd.

“He’s been my guide since I came here. I’m not yet familiar with this place. Actually,” he adds, a bit embarrassed, “I was hoping the Queen would be able to help me home.”

“Home,” the king repeats thoughtfully. “And just where would that be for you?” He watches Sam carefully, and doesn’t try to hide the suspicion in his eyes. Sam swallows nervously.

“A country far from here,” he says. “I doubt the name would mean much to you.”

“Hmm,” the king says, but thankfully he doesn’t press. Sam, tense, watches the game. The Queen swings and misses, but the poor little porcupine they’re using as a ball takes off running toward the wickets anyway.

It’s a long few minutes later that the king speaks again. “I find it difficult to believe that your attire is anything less than a purposeful statement.”

Sam frowns. “I’m sorry?” he says.

“This kingdom has a very clear dress code, in case you haven’t noticed,” the king says, gesturing to his own clothing. “And yet here you come waltzing in wearing white and blue. We’ve been getting reports of disturbances among the people, you know. The flowers are in a tizzy; the caterpillar has disappeared; the guardian of the Tulgey Wood has abandoned his post.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what any of those things are, or what they have to do with me,” Sam says. “I just want to go home. I don’t want any trouble, sir.”

Across the lawn, Castiel finally notices who it is Sam’s talking to. Sam gives him a helpless look, and Castiel frowns and begins to make his way over.

“No?” the king says. “And I suppose you’ve never heard of Mirana, either.”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Sam says. His pulse flutters rabbit-quick in his chest, and he clenches his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” the king whispers, leaning in close. Despite himself, Sam leans in with him. “She is the White Queen.”

“The White Queen?” Sam says.

“The _White Queen_!” the Red Queen roars. Sam hadn’t even noticed she was within earshot. “Who dares speak of that ill-pigmented fraud?”

The court, clustered around him, murmurs and collectively steps away from Sam. Castiel finally makes it to Sam’s side just as the Queen’s heated gaze falls upon them.

“ _You_ ,” she says. “It was you, wasn’t it? Nasty little boy! You spy for _her_ , don’t you?”

“I’m not a spy,” Sam says, stepping closer to Castiel.

“It’s true, ma’am,” Castiel says. “I’ve been with him all this time. He didn’t even know of the White Queen.”

“A likely story.” The Red Queen adjusts her crown and tosses away her flamingo. She sucks in a large breath; the court and the king cover their ears.

“Oh, no,” Castiel mutters.

“Off,” the Red Queen shouts, “with his _head_!”

As the echoes of her voice peter out, a stunned silence descends upon them. The King clears his throat.

“Consider, my dear, that we might give him a trial,” he says, and he doesn’t flinch when the Queen turns her flinty-eyed gaze upon him. 

“A trial,” the Queen says as if she’s never heard the word in her life.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “We’ve never held a trial before. It would be your honor to oversee the first one! They’d remember it for centuries.”

This manipulation seems a bit heavy handed for it to work, but to Sam’s surprise the Red Queen tilts her head thoughtfully.

 _Well_ , Sam thinks, _I’m certainly not going to complain._

“A trial, eh? Very well. We’ll use the old storage room. Clear it out and put together a jury!”

“Of course, right away!”

“Hurry, don’t delay!”

Two of the guards hurry off into the maze, and the Queen’s court exchange looks and hurry after them. Sam and Castiel, left alone with the Queen and the King, shuffle closer to each other.

“Escort Sam to the dungeons,” the Queen says carelessly. “Majordomo, you will oversee preparations for the trial. You have one hour before we start.”

“The dungeons?” Sam exclaims. “Whatever for?”

“For being a spy and a prisoner, of course,” the Queen says. She sniffs haughtily and looks down her nose at him. “We’ll get this silly little trial out of the way, and then we’ll see what a traitor’s head looks like tumbling down the stairs.”

Sam heaves a panicked breath and looks to Castiel, who’s staring at him with horror evident in his blue eyes, but before they can say another word, the Queen has Castiel’s arm in her grip and is dragging him back toward the castle.

“Castiel!” Sam cries.

“Sam! Stay strong! We’ll find a way out of this!” Castiel calls back, but then he and the Queen round a corner and disappear from view. Sam stares after them for a moment, panting.

“Come along, then,” the King says. He’s a little shorter than Sam but broader, and he watches Sam with a shrewd eye as if he’s preparing for a fight. _He needn’t bother,_ Sam thinks. _I’ve no intention of resisting._

Silently, he shuffles along behind the King as they walk into the maze. His gaze is focused somewhere near his shoes, but he isn’t really seeing anything. All he can think about is how none of this would have happened if he had only listened to Dean back in the garden, and about how it’s all the fault of his own insatiable curiosity that he’s about to be beheaded.

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” the King says, looking back at him. “Here, I’ll tell you a secret that will make you feel better.” He leans in close and drops his voice to a rough whisper. “I know you’re not a traitor, because _I_ am.”

Sam frowns. “What?” he says, sure he must have misunderstood.

“I work for the White Queen, and I have for years,” the King says. “I’ve been keeping track of your exploits, you know. You’re both a lot of trouble.” He adopts a stern expression and waggles a finger like a school teacher. Sam bats his hand away irritably, too surprised to care much about decorum at the moment and too caught off-guard to wonder who else the King is talking about. _Both_ , he’d said.

“So what is all this, then? Am I really to be beheaded?”

“The Queen will try,” the King says. “But I’m confident I can sway the trial in your favor. I’m not sure if you know this, but Underland is rather a ridiculous place.”

Sam snorts. “I’ve noticed.”

The King beams at him. “There you go, then! You don’t have to do a thing except relax in the dungeon for an hour.”

Despite himself, Sam feels his anxiety begin to lessen.

“Alright,” he says, “I’m trusting you.”

“Wonderful!” the King says, and they walk the rest of the way to the dungeon in silence.


	12. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and the Red Queen butt heads during Wonderland's first ever trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November is finally over, which means nanowrimo is no longer consuming my life, which means that now I can dedicate more time to this fic! I know updates have been kind of slow, but hopefully they'll be a lot more frequent from here on out. The chapters themselves are probably going to be longer, too.
> 
> Anyway, this is the final chapter of part two! Part three is in the works as we speak, so keep an eye out. Things are only going to get wilder from here.

The dungeon is rather nice, all things considered. Sam was expecting steel bars and mildew, rats and strange dripping noises. Instead, he is shown to a small room in the castle’s basement. It has stone walls and bars across the windows, sure, but the floor is wood, and the small cot in the corner is comfortable enough when Sam sits down on it.

Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have time to brood for very long before a familiar voice is calling out for him from the cell next to his. Sam goes to the door of his cell and grips the bars in the windows. He eyes the card guards warily, but they appear bored and uninterested in what their prisoners are doing, so Sam deems it safe to respond.

“Duchess,” he says. 

“Sam! Oh, I thought that was you.” The Duchess sounds unbothered by being locked up. From her tone alone, she and Sam could be having tea in her garden. “How are you doing, dear?”

Sam frowns. “Not very well, I’m afraid. I’m locked up and awaiting trial.”

“ _Trial?_ ” She laughs. “Impossible. The Queen does not hold trials.”

Sam’s lips quirk up. “You clearly have not had enough practice doing impossible things, Duchess.”

She is silent for a moment. Her voice is warm when she says, “Clearly. Well, good luck, child. You may call upon me as a witness, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Duchess, I shall.”

“If I’m not beheaded first, that is,” the Duchess says as if Sam hadn’t spoken. This is not as comforting as she perhaps meant it to be.

Sam spends the rest of the hour lying on his cot, tapping his thumb nervously against his thigh as he tries not to dwell on what is to come. When a duo of guards finally come to collect him, he’s almost relieved, if only so that he doesn’t have to wait any longer to find out his fate.

The guards lead Sam down long hallways lined with thick red tapestries and rugs. The door they stop in front of is tall, arched, and surprisingly easy to open when the guards give it a shove. The guards shoo him inside.

“Go on, then, inside you go.”

“The Queen’s impatient, don’t you know?.”

Sam swallows his fear and marches into the room.

Instantly, he is bombarded with noise. The wooden benches are filled to the brim with Underlanders of all shapes and sizes. Sam recognizes the Dodo and his posse near the back; in front of them, sitting eerily still despite the chaos, are the twins, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Castiel is waiting by the door, and he pulls Sam into a hug as soon as they lay eyes on each other.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Castiel says when he pulls back. His face is drawn, his eyes anxious, but he musters up what Sam thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile. “There’s never been a trial here before, so there is no precedent to follow. This will be unlike any trial you may have seen in Upperland before.”

Sam does not mention that he has never been to a trial in his life.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” he says. “All I have to do is convince the Red Queen that I’m not working for White Queen.”

Castiel’s smile turns strained.

“Call forth the defendant,” the Queen shouts from the front. Castiel and Sam make their way to the front of the courtroom, where a single wooden table and chair are sitting in front of the imposing podium the King and Queen are seated behind. Sam sinks into the chair. Castiel comes to stand at his side, close enough for his arm to brush Sam’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Sam Winchester,” Castiel says, and the room goes quiet. “You stand before Their Majesties, the honorable jury, and the loyal subjects of the Kingdom of Hearts, charged with high treason in the form of collusion with the false White Queen.”

The Queen smiles demurely. “Are you ready for your sentence, my dear?”

Sam blinks in astonishment. “But we haven’t even reached a verdict yet,” he says.

“Sentence first,” the Queen demands, “and verdict after.”

Sam looks helplessly to the King, who winks with no subtlety.

“Consider, my dear,” he says to the Queen, “we haven’t even heard from any witnesses.”

The Queen glares at him for a moment before she nods. “Very well,” she says, crossing her arms petulantly. “Call in the first witness, then!”

Sam, admittedly, does not know how trials are supposed to work, but he’s reasonably certain that it isn’t like this.

“Presenting the March Hare!” Castiel calls. Sam frowns, unfamiliar with the name. He twists in his seat to watch a pair of card guards escort a gangly brown hare up to the Queen’s podium. The hare—who, Sam notes interestedly, is an actual animal and not an almost-animal like Castiel—sips from his little cup of tea and looks around, nose twitching.

“What do you know about this business, then?” the King asks.

The March Hare snorts into his tea. “Nothing!” he says cheerfully.

“Nothing _whatever?_ ” the Queen presses.

“ _Nothing_ whatever!”

“Write that down,” the Queen calls to the jury. “That’s _very_ important.”

“You mean _unimportant_ ,” Sam can’t help but say.

The Queen ignores him.

“Next witness!” the King calls.

“Presenting the Duchess!” Castiel calls, eyes wide. The Duchess strolls into the courtroom as if she has not just spent the day in a dungeon. She has her baby pig back; it trots at her side like a lapdog and sits near her feet when she stops in front of the King and Queen.

“Where were you when this young man was being accused of treason?” the King asks.

“I was in the dungeon,” the Duchess says. The March Hare giggles, and she pushes him so hard he topples into the first row of the benches. “Your brutish guards threw me in there on _your_ orders, you know.”

“And what do you know of Sam Winchester?”

The Duchess looks at Sam and Castiel, her expression inscrutable.

“He is very good at doing impossible things,” says the Duchess. Sam smiles down at his lap.

The Queen is less impressed. “Now _that_ is an unimportant piece of evidence. Call in the next witness!”

“Back to the dungeon with you, Duchess,” the King says, wagging a finger at her like she’s a misbehaving child. A pair of guards arrives to escort her out, her pig trotting obediently at her side, though they allow her to pause when she reaches Sam and Castiel. Placing a hand on each of their shoulders, she turns back to face the Queen.

“Down with your tyranny,” she says. “Long live the White Queen!”

The courtroom breaks into chaos. 

“Off with her head!” the Queen screams. “ _Off with her head!”_ The King bangs his gavel and shouts for order as the people in the stands shoot to their feet, jeering and booing. Sam reaches for Castiel’s hand and squeezes it tightly, his heart pounding away in his chest. The Queen looks more furious than Sam’s ever seen her; her face is almost purple, the veins in her neck standing out as she hollers at the impassive Duchess.

In the midst of the chaos, the King goes still and quiet, his eyes fixed on the back of the courtroom. 

“I say,” he says, “who are you?”

Silence descends upon the room as every head swivels to look toward the door. Sam looks over his shoulder with the rest of them, and his jaw drops at who he sees hovering uncertainly near the back. Dean’s face lights up.

“Sam!” he calls

“Dean!” Sam scrambles from behind his chair and dashes for the back of the room, dodging the people who’ve spilled out of the stands. He barrels into Dean’s waiting arms. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Well, I couldn’t let my little brother have all the fun, now, could I?” Dean says, ruffling Sam’s hair. Sam grins at him, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Gabriel,” Castiel says softly, coming up behind Sam. Sam follows Castiel’s shocked gaze and finally notices the person floating in the air behind Dean.

“The Cheshire Cat,” Sam says, but the Cat—Gabriel—only has eyes for Castiel.

“Hello, cousin,” Gabriel says. Sam remembers him most for his devil-may-care grin, but now Gabriel looks particularly timid. Dean has noticed, too, if the way he rests his hand comfortingly on Gabriel’s shoulder is any indication. Sam tilts his head curiously, frowning. Dean isn’t the most social of people normally; Sam wonders what happened between Dean and Gabriel that made them so obviously close.

“It’s nice of you to finally show yourself to me,” Castiel says. He visibly recollects himself, straightening his posture and tilting his head up proudly. Before Gabriel can respond to this jab, the Queen calls to them from the front of the room.

“Enough of this!” she screams, banging the gavel. “Kill the Duchess! Kill her charges! Kill the traitor and kill his brother for good measure! _Off_ with their _heads!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, concerns? Let me know down below! Even if it's just to scream incoherently at me (whether in anger or joy or something else entirely), comments make my day and motivate me to update faster!


	13. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, Gabriel, Sam, and Dean escape the Red Queen's clutches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised longer chapters, but this transitional chapter was necessary! From now on, the chapters will be longer and the POV is going to switch between Castiel and Gabriel. This is also going to be the final arc of the fic (unless something happens to make me really deviate from my plan).

As the Queen’s final word rings out, Casiel’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes growing wide with horror. Gabriel recovers before anyone else does.

“Excellent!” he says, taking to the air again. “Follow me!”

“Gabriel, what—” says Dean, but Gabriel cuts him off by taking his hand and dragging him out of the door.

“Come on!” Gabriel calls over his shoulder.

“Stop them!” the Queen snarls, and the guards who had been lining the walls jump to attention, raising their spears threateningly as their captain calls them to order.

“Cas, let’s go,” Sam says, holding his hand out. Castiel takes it. Together, they dash out of the courtroom.

“Sam, hurry!” Dean says. He and Gabriel are waiting impatiently at the end of the corridor, Gabriel bobbing in erratic little patterns above Dean’s head. Castiel and Sam reach them just as the courtroom doors burst open again. Followed by a horde of guards yelling bloody murder, Castiel, Sam, Dean, and Gabriel run through the castle and into the Queen’s hedge maze.

Gabriel laughs, and Castiel can’t help but glare at him, even though he trips as soon as he lifts his eyes from the ground. He can’t blame Gabriel for their current situation, even though he’d like to; he blames Gabriel for a lot of things, after all. But Gabriel could at least pretend to take this seriously. He might be able to disappear, but if any of the other three are caught, the Queen will kill them for sure.

“You know the way through the maze, right, Cassie?” Gabriel asks.

“Yes,” Castiel gasps. He finally, reluctantly drops Sam’s hand and finds it easier to run. “Why?”

“Take them to the center,” Gabriel says. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Wait, Gabriel!” Castiel calls as Gabriel takes to the sky and disappears over the hedges.

“He does that a lot,” Dean says, huffing.

“Save your breath,” Sam says tersely. A spear shoots into the ground just to the left of where Sam was a second ago, buried so far in the grass that it sticks straight up into the air. Castiel risks looking back and blanches. A charging wave of spear-wielding cards roars at him, their faces frozen in fury. Even some of the court have joined in the chase. His heart leaps into his throat, and he forces himself to run just a bit faster.

The hedges blur around them. Castiel loses track of how many turns they’ve taken, of how far behind the mob is. He navigates automatically, focusing on nothing except the burn in his chest and his breath rattling in his lungs. Still, it can’t be more than a few minutes later when he, Sam, and Dean burst into the clearing. Gabriel is already there, waiting impatiently in front of a little glowing door in the hedges.

_One of his infamous shortcuts,_ Castiel thinks with grudging respect.

“Hurry, hurry!” Gabriel says, taking to the air. Dean reaches the door first. He dives through head first, with Sam not far behind. Castiel hesitates for only a brief moment before running through himself. Gabriel comes through the doorway last, closing it behind him just as the first of the mob sprints into the clearing.

In the sudden silence around them, their heaving breaths sound thunderous. Castiel leans his hands on his knees and coughs, his throat raw. Dean has flopped onto the grass, while Sam holds his side, wincing in obvious pain. Gabriel, of course, is perfectly fine, floating leisurely in the air on his back, like he’s swinging in a hammock. The Tulgey Wood spreads out all around them, dark and twisted and oppressive.

When he manages to catch his breath, Castiel rounds on Gabriel, only to find that he doesn’t know what to say. Gabriel notices his stare and returns it with one of his own, his slit-pupiled eyes wide. His ever-present smile falls into a grimace. His expression quite clearly says that he knows what Castiel is thinking.

“Castiel,” Gabriel says, more serious than Castiel has seen him in a long, long time. “I—”

“Sam!” Dean exclaims, throwing his arms around his brother. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Sam says, hugging Dean back tightly. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t expect you to follow me down the rabbit hole.”

“Of course I did,” Dean says. He holds Sam at arm’s length and fusses, brushing at the dirt staining his clothes and picking twigs and grass out of his hair. “You’re my little brother. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth and back.”

Castiel swallows thickly and looks away, though he accidentally catches Gabriel’s gaze. Gabriel looks away first and, with visible effort, smiles.

“Isn’t this nice?” he says as his feet find the ground. “Brothers reunited. It would be heartwarming, if not for the bloodthirsty queen on our tail.”

“Gabriel’s right,” Castiel says. “She’ll not stop, especially now that she thinks you and I have betrayed her to the White Queen, Sam.”

“So what do we do?” Sam asks.

“We must return home,” Dean says firmly. “We have to get out of Underland.”

“And leave Castiel and Gabriel to face the Queen on their own?” Sam says, frowning. Castiel’s chest warms at Sam’s obvious concern for him.

“We’ve been dealing with the Queen for a long time,” Castiel says. “We’ll be fine.”

But Dean is shaking his head. “No,” he says, meeting Castiel’s eyes briefly before his gaze fixes on Gabriel. “Come with us. You told me you’re not from Underland originally, that you were lost here just as Sam and I were. You’re from our world, aren’t you?”

A gasp escapes Castiel before he can stop it. Even Gabriel looks caught off guard, though he recovers soon enough, winking one eye lazily as he smiles.

“Perceptive,” he says. “You’re right; my cousin and I are originally from Upperland.”

“That was a long time ago, however,” Castiel interrupts softly. “I’m not even sure if we _can_ go back.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, reaching out to take his hand. Dean looks at Castiel consideringly, but Castiel ignores him in favor of meeting Sam’s concerned gaze.

“Once you belong to Underland, there isn’t much that can release you,” Castiel says. “I’ve been here for a long time, Sam. Longer than you think.”

“But Gabriel told me the Queen could send us home,” Dean protests. “If she can do that, surely she can send you two with us.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the Queen isn’t too pleased with us at the moment,” Castiel says, annoyed. Gabriel, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, tilts his head.

“The Red Queen knows all of the strange ways in and out of Underland,” he says consideringly, his lips quirked up in a smirk, “but the White Queen has magic at her disposal that even that bloody red big-head doesn’t know about. And Castiel, you’re not nearly as mad as I am. I’m sure this place doesn’t have as strong a hold on you as you might think.”

Gabriel had a piercing gaze even before he became the Cheshire Cat; now, with his strange feline eyes, it feels as though he is peering right into Castiel’s soul. Castiel still doesn’t know how he feels about Gabriel, however, and doesn’t appreciate the scrutiny.

“I will not leave you here alone to rot,” he says. “Regardless of our differences, you’re still my cousin.”

Gabriel shrugs and takes to the air. “It was just an idea. In any case, the White Queen’s castle is where we should head next. She’ll be able to help you two dears,” he says, pinching Sam’s cheek and ruffling Dean’s hair. “And she’ll have a place for you in her court, Cassie, since I doubt the Red Queen will take you back as her majordomo.”

That’s sensible enough, Castiel supposes. “Do you know the way to the White Queen’s domain, then?” he asks.

“But of course! It’s far beyond the sea, in a land where flower petals fall like rain, but I have a shortcut.”

He gives a little twist in midair and disappears. His voice floats by on the wind, singing again, and the trees glow to mark his path through the forest.

“Come along, then,” Castiel says, and takes the lead. Sam and Dean follow behind, though Sam soon catches up with Castiel and walks shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Castiel,” he starts slowly, “forgive me if I’m being rude, but I must admit I’m curious about your history with your cousin.”

Castiel keeps his face carefully neutral; Gabriel is aware of everything that happens here, after all, and it wouldn’t do to give away his emotions in his expression.

“That’s only natural,” Castiel says. “Honestly, our story is much the same as yours. We came from Upperland and became lost here. Unlike you, however, we didn’t have anyone to guide us home.” He smiles, but Sam’s brow is furrowed. Dean, who seems to have less tact than Sam, speaks up.

“You’re angry at him for something,” he says. He’s perceptive, like Gabriel said, but in Castiel’s opinion, he could do with a lesson in subtlety. Castiel debates the merits of denying it, but he’s never been a very good liar, and in any case, he’s too angry at Gabriel to pretend otherwise.

“Yes,” Castiel says shortly. “It’s his fault that we ever came to Underland in the first place, and it was his actions that prevented us from leaving. It’s his own fault that this place drove him mad, and that the same is slowly happening to me.”

The humming on the wind dies down. The trees briefly go dark, though Castiel isn’t sure Sam or Dean noticed.

“But you would not leave him here alone,” Sam says.

Castiel gets the feeling that the Tulgey trees are straining to hear his answer.

“No,” he says with a sigh. “I wouldn’t.”

Sam nods. “I wouldn’t be able to leave Dean, either. Even if I hated him.”

Dean coughs politely. 

“I think in this scenario,” he says, “ _I_ would be at risk of hating _you_ , since it was you who led us here in the first place.”

“But it was you who followed,” Sam counters playfully.

There’s a smile in Dean’s voice when he answers. “Yes, it was.”

Castiel swallows thickly and keeps his gaze on the ground as he places one foot in front of the other. Even before coming to this accursed place, he doesn’t think he and Gabriel ever had such a close relationship. Admittedly, they didn’t spend much time together, since there was just enough of an age gap between them that Gabriel had better things to do than mind his younger cousin. But now the gap between them is longer than years and wider than space, and Castiel suspects it might be too late for them to cross it.

With a deep sigh, he pulls himself from his melancholy thoughts and looks around. The woods are dark and deep, here, but the trees ahead of them are still glowing faintly, giving them a clear path to follow. Castiel isn’t sure how, exactly, Gabriel’s shortcuts work, but walking all this way seems pointless when Gabriel can simply open up one of his doorways. Irritated all of a sudden, he stops, and Sam, who is still holding his hand, stops with him.

“Castiel?” Sam says. “What’s the matter?”

“I am tired of walking,” Castiel says, glaring at the forest around him, “and I suspect my cousin might be stringing us along.”

Gabriel wastes no time in appearing. “Why, cousin, I’m hurt,” he says, placing a hand on his chest. Crouching as he is in the darkness of the treetops, it’s difficult to see more than his golden eyes and his sharp-toothed grin.

“I don’t think he would do that,” Dean says, frowning slightly.

“Thank you, Dean,” says Gabriel. “We’re nearly there. Step lively, now!”

Castiel doesn’t move. “Gabriel, please, can’t you be serious for once in your life? Why must we walk all this way when you’re simply going to open a shortcut anyway?”

Gabriel’s tail gives an irritated little flick.

“It’s not such a simple matter as you seem to think, Castiel, to create shortcuts as I do. They take effort, especially when travelling vast distances. It is easy enough to do here, since the Tulgey Wood is the heart of this country, but I can’t hold them open for long, and I can’t make too many at once. The White Queen’s castle is far, and to take us there will require all of my strength.”

Castiel looks down for a moment, chagrined, then looks up again and meets Gabriel’s eyes. “So why put it off?”

Gabriel leaps nimbly from the branch and floats to the ground. He looks off into the woods. “This is not my first time visiting the White Queen’s lands. I have a shortcut deep in the woods, the same one I use every time. They gather strength the more they are used, you see. Reusing that one will be easier than attempting to forge an entirely new path.”

Dean steps forward and clasps Gabriel’s shoulder. “We trust you,” he says. “But we are a bit tired. Are we nearly there?”

“Nearly,” Gabriel says. “It’s not too much farther now. Why, the mome raths could travel this distance in half the time as us, at the rate we’re going!”

Dean sighs, exasperated and fond. “The mome raths,” he says, “have not just escaped the clutches of a mad queen with a big head.”

Gabriel laughs lightly and takes once more to the air. “True enough, I suppose. But the youngest of us hasn’t complained once!” They all turn to Sam, who flushes under their scrutiny. “You two might take after his example. Come along, now!”

Humming, he disappears among the trees, with Dean on his tail. Sam squeezes Castiel’s hand and offers him an encouraging smile, which does go a long way toward making him feel better. They continue on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something you loved, hated, want to see more of? Let me know in the comments! I love to know what you guys are thinking and I respond to all comments unless you sign it with "whisper," though if you've made it by far you probably know my comment policy by now :)


	14. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel, Castiel, Sam, and Dean come to the White Queen's castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first of those long chapters I mentioned! We've got a lot of story left to cover and not many chapters to do it, so the chapters seem to be getting progressive longer, though I'm sure you all don't mind. This chapter is from Gabriel's POV, which means we find out a lot of interesting little tidbits about Underland and its magic that the others aren't aware of.
> 
> And to anyone who's celebrated anything these past few weeks, or anyone who's about to celebrate something, happy holidays! Consider this update a gift from me to you.

Gabriel, still in the lead, is the first to push through into the clearing, emerging from the trees with a hesitance in his heart that he refuses to show on his face. That familiar tree is there, more gnarled and squat than any other in the forest. Its bark is practically luminescent with latent magic by now, and Gabriel feels its presence sliding like a gentle breeze across his face. In front of it, the ground is trampled and dead, the only blemish on the otherwise overgrown grass.

Gabriel looks at it for only a moment before averting his gaze, feeling something hot and writhing burst to life in his gut. He’s spent countless hours pacing in front of that tree or leaning half-conscious against its trunk, waiting to recover enough energy to open another shortcut. He spent countless years travelling to the White Queen’s country, away from the Red Queen and the Tulgey Wood and his cousin.

Speaking of. . . .

Castiel and the Winchester brothers stumble out into the clearing, peering around until they spot Gabriel in the air.

“Is this your shortcut?” Dean asks, nodding toward the tree.

“Perceptive,” Gabriel says with a smile. He lets himself drop to the ground and walks over to the tree, carefully avoiding the patch of flattened grass. The tree grows a little brighter at his approach, as if happy to see him again, and the magic swirling in the grooves of its bark surges up to meet his hand when he rests his palm against it.

Gabriel exhales slowly and closes his eyes. He can practically feel his companions’ gazes boring into him, but he ignores them, focusing instead on reaching deep into the core of the tree, and then _through_ the core of the tree, and across the sea to a country scented by flowers that fall like snow.

He doesn’t knock; by now he has a standing invitation. Someone gasps. Gabriel keeps his eyes shut. He knows what they’ll see, anyway: a glowing white line etching itself into the trunk of the gnarled old tree, outlining a wide, arched doorway. After a long, tense moment, the tree pulses once to let him know it’s done.

Gabriel’s breath explodes out of him in a huge gasp, and only then does he become aware that he was holding his breath. Panting slightly, he fights off a wave of light-headedness as he pushes the door open.

“Go on,” he says, and finally looks back. Sam and Castiel look concerned, their brows furrowed, though when he notices Gabriel looking, Castiel’s face smooths out. Dean, though, is looking at Gabriel like he’s done something amazing. Gabriel grins and twirls to hide his blush. “You’d best hurry, unless you want to find out what happens if the door closes while you’re halfway through. Will you be cut in half, do you think?”

Castiel huffs and rolls his eyes, and tugs Sam forward. They disappear through the doorway, and Gabriel _feels_ it as they walk through the ether and emerge in the White Queen’s Country.

Dean walks forward next, though he pauses to clasp a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder before stepping through himself. When he’s gone, Gabriel grits his teeth and gives himself a moment to slump, exhausted. Then he turns and dashes into the shortcut as quickly as he can.

He’s barely made it through when the door slams shut. He takes to the air to hide the way his legs buckle underneath his weight, though the others are too busy looking around in awe to pay him much attention, anyway. Gabriel sighs and glances around, too, just to make sure that they’re safe. These woods are not the Tulgey Wood; he has no connection to this place, not like he does in the Red Queen’s lands. Still, the cherry blossom trees that dot the landscape like him because he always takes the time to talk to them, and now they wave their branches reassuringly to let him know there’s no danger. Cherry blossom petals drift around them like snowflakes.

“It’s beautiful here,” Sam says, grinning.

“Yes, it is,” Castiel responds. “Very aptly named, too. This place is very. . . pale.”

“Don’t be rude, Cassie,” Gabriel says, twisting in the air to hang upside down in front of his cousin. “There’s color of a sort here, if you know where to look.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Castiel grumbles, eyes narrowed. Gabriel doesn’t allow his grin to falter, but his tail lashes behind him in agitation.

“Where is this White Queen, anyhow?” Dean asks. He reaches up and takes hold of Gabriel’s wrist, and he uses that grip to tug Gabriel back down to the ground. Gabriel is not pleased with being, suddenly, the shortest person here, but Dean doesn’t let his wrist go and Gabriel resigns himself to staying on the ground for a while.

“On the other side of the forest,” Gabriel says. “Not far; maybe an hour’s walk, if you don’t dawdle.”

“An hour?” Dean says, dismayed. Gabriel ignores him; a little walking never killed anyone. Familiar music drifts by on the breeze, and Gabriel sings along absentmindedly as he begins walking.

“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe,” he croons. Dean’s grip shifts until they’re holding hands, their fingers intertwined. Delighted, Gabriel’s tail waves behind him in time with the music that only he can hear, and he sings quietly under his breath as he and Dean lead the way through the forest of white blossoms.

* * *

The White Queen’s castle is much the same as her sister’s in terms of style and build, though the bricks are white and the ivy clinging to the walls is dusky and pale. They’re all a bit worn down by the time they arrive, including Gabriel, who walked most of the way because he didn’t want to have to let go of Dean’s hand. Gabriel leads them around the side of the castle, into a large garden where he knows the Queen likes to have tea with her court.

Sure enough, they are sitting at their preferred table, sipping from delicate china cups. They’re nearly indistinguishable from their surroundings, and Gabriel has to admit that maybe Castiel had a point—there really is quite a lot of white here.

“Wait,” Gabriel says. “I’ll be right back.”

He takes to the air and grins; his teeth flash in front of the Queen, Mirana, who gasps and then laughs when she recognizes him.

“Hello, Cheshire Cat,” she says. Gabriel’s lonely grin turns fonder as he appears fully in front of her.

“Your Majesty,” he says, “and the court! How delightful.”

The nobles, who were never very comfortable around him, murmur polite greetings. Gabriel ignores them.

“How have you been?” Mirana asks.

_Tired_ , Gabriel wants to say. _Conflicted_. Instead, he smiles and says, “The same as I always am, though a little less wanting for company at the moment. My companions and I had a bit of a run-in with your sister.”

“Really?” Mirana turns to look behind her curiously. Dean, awkward little thing that he is, lifts a hand and waves. Mirana gathers her voluminous skirts and descends the white stone staircase, the rest of her nobles trailing along behind her. Gabriel, for now acting as emissary between the two parties, sits cross-legged in the air.

“May I introduce the White Queen, or as I like to call her, the Right Queen,” says Gabriel. Mirana giggles.

“You may call me Mirana,” she says graciously.

“Your Majesty, this is my cousin, Castiel, as well as Dean and Sam Winchester.”

“Lovely to meet you,” says Sam, gazing up at her in awe, while Castiel sketches the appropriate bow.

“Your clothing,” Mirana murmurs, tilting her head at Castiel. “You work for Iracebeth, don’t you?”

“I did,” Castiel admits. “I helped Sam escape a criminal trial, however, so I doubt she’ll take me back.”

“Trial!” said Mirana, shocked. She purses her lips and turns to her courtiers. “Apologies, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our tea short.”

“Understandable, Your Majesty,” says a man in a very tall wig. “We shall reconvene at the same time next week.”

“Thank you,” Mirana says. As the courtiers bow and make their exit, Mirana turns once again to her new guests. “Now, why don’t we go inside, and you can tell me everything?”

* * *

In the White Queen’s personal study, Mirana paces back and forth in agitation, her brow furrowed as she thinks. Sam, Dean, and Castiel are each sat in armchairs, drinking tea, but Gabriel refused the cup Mirana offered him. He’s not sure if his cousin or the Winchesters ever noticed, but the tea in Underland always has a peculiar aftertaste that he never could get used to. Normally he covers it up with sugar, but Mirana’s little tea tray doesn’t have enough sugar on it for his tastes, and he doesn’t want to bother her by asking for more. He sips at a small cup of cream, instead, and hovers in the air in the back corner of the room while he waits for Mirana to speak.

After another moment or two, she sighs, and she straightens her shoulders and stops her pacing.

“Cheshire Cat,” she says, “are you thinking the same thing I am?”

“Probably not,” says Gabriel cheerfully. “Unless you’re thinking about the prophecy, in which case, yes!”

“That is exactly what I was thinking of,” says Mirana with a smile. Of everyone Gabriel’s ever met, she’s always had the most tolerance for his—for lack of a better term— _unorthodox_ behavior.

“The prophecy to overthrow the Red Queen?” says Sam. “I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with getting us home?”

“Well, I’m afraid that the only way for you to leave this place is to fulfil the prophecy,” Mirana says. “There is only one way for someone to leave Underland and go to Upperland, and it is very dangerous and quite impossible. That’s why no one has ever done it. I know that you have been searching for a way out of here for years, Cheshire Cat,” she adds, and Gabriel resists the urge to laugh or fidget as everyone’s attention shifts to him.

“Yes,” he says. “But my shortcuts only seem to work within the bounds of Underland. I had—pardon my language—a hell of a time creating a shortcut to come here to your country, Your Majesty.”

“I can imagine,” says Mirana.

“What is the way for us to get home?” Dean asks, setting down his cup of tea. “What makes it so dangerous?”

“Do you know the prophecy?” Mirana asks.

“Yes,” says Dean. “Gabriel—that is, the Cheshire Cat—recited it for me.”

“I haven’t heard it,” says Sam. “But I know that it foretells the downfall of the Red Queen at the hands of someone from Upperland.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” says Mirana. “You see, in order to defeat the Red Queen, the hero of legend must retrieve the Vorpal Sword and use it to slay the Queen’s most fearsome weapon, a horrible beast called the Jabberwock. The Jabberwock’s blood can be used to create a wish-granting potion that can send you home. But my sister has locked the Sword away and keeps it guarded by the Bandersnatch. Many people have tried to steal the Sword, but no one ever has. Only one person has ever escaped the Bandersnatch alive.”

Her gaze flicks toward Gabriel for a second, and he looks away uncomfortably. The cream which had seemed so light and sweet before now sits heavy and sour in his stomach.

“I think this time it could be different,” Gabriel says. “There are four of us Upperlanders, and now Castiel and I have the added benefit of having been exposed to Underland’s magic for a long while. And I have a little trick up my sleeve.” With a grin, he reaches into a pocket at his hip—which definitely wasn’t there a moment ago—and carefully shows off the round, squishy little object in his hand. Mirana lets out a little squeak.

“Is that—”

“Yes!” says Gabriel. He shoves it back into his pocket.

“Well,” says Mirana, looking a little flustered. “I suppose that settles it. Once again, we are attempting to fulfill the prophecy. I shall need to put together a war council. Cheshire Cat, would you mind carrying the word back to the other country? You know whom to invite.”

“It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty,” says Gabriel. He forgets that he’s still floating in the air, so when he bows lowly, he loses his fragile grip on his balance and flips into a slow somersault. He’s giggling when he finally rights himself. Castiel mutters under his breath, something that Gabriel doesn’t hear but which causes Sam to cast him a worried look. Gabriel ignores them both.

“I would like you to leave immediately,” says Mirana. “Unless you have reason to object?”

Gabriel has many reasons to object. Today has been very long and very tiring, and he’d spent a good portion of it either creating shortcuts or running for his life or both; if he agrees to this errand, he’ll have nothing to look forward to but more of the same. He is aware he’s running on the last reserves of energy he possesses, for he hasn’t eaten since the Hatter’s tea party and hasn’t slept in longer.

But now Mirana’s gone and given him hope that he can go home after all these lonely years. With Dean and Sam’s lives at stake, too, how could he even think of procrastinating? Sleep and food can wait, but every moment they spend here, the brothers are more and more at risk of succumbing to Underland’s insidious magic.

“No,” he says, “I have no objections. If I am not back by this evening, do not wait up for me.”

“Hold on,” says Dean. “You’re going back to the Red Queen’s country by yourself? Won’t that be dangerous? She might still be looking for us.”

Gabriel grins. Dean’s worry would be insulting if it wasn’t so adorable.

“Do not trouble your freckled little head,” Gabriel says, reaching out to pinch Dean’s cheeks. Dean shakes him off with an irritated grumble. “The Red Queen cannot hope to catch me. I can hide myself from prying eyes, and I can create shortcuts that even she could never intercept.”

“But surely you must be tired,” Sam says. “I know I am, and I suspect Dean and Castiel feel the same.”

Surprisingly, it is Castiel who comes to Gabriel’s defense, though Gabriel is unsure if it’s because Castiel trusts him to return or because he’s hoping Gabriel won’t return at all. “If he says he can do it, then he can.” He locks gazes with Gabriel for a moment before looking at Sam. “He is not the bumbling fool he appears to be.”

“Well,” says Gabriel cheerfully, “not all the time, at least. But my cousin is right! This is not the most dangerous errand I have ever been on. I’ll be back soon, with allies in tow. Your Majesty, would it be possible for you to station a guard at my usual shortcut in the woods, to guide your guests back to your castle once they cross over?”

“Very well,” says Mirana. “But do be careful, and for goodness’ sake, do not purposefully antagonize my sister if you do happen to come across her.”

“I wouldn’t dream of bothering the big head,” says Gabriel innocently. “I’m off, then! I shall see you all soon.”

He barely gives them time to say their own goodbyes before he is gone, out the door and the hallway and the castle, and back again into the wood of cherry blossom trees. Only then does he let his shoulders sag and his smile drop, if only for a moment. He walks the rest of the way to the tree that houses his shortcut, for walking is slightly less tiring than flying. The tree is just as twisted and gnarled as the ones in the Tulgey Wood. It’s a side effect of his magic, he suspects, but he cannot feel bad for corrupting this cherry blossom tree when its distinctive shape means he does not have to wander lost around these woods trying to find it.

Taking a deep breath, Gabriel gathers his strength. There is not much of it left, but there is enough to get him back to the Tulgey Wood through a shortcut. It takes him a long while to connect to the Tulgey Wood—longer, even, than it had taken to create the shortcut to the Cherry Wood in the first place. By the time the doorway is fully formed, Gabriel is light-headed and dizzy. He stumbles through the doorway and catches himself on one of the Tulgey trees before he falls.

As always, the Tulgey Wood is glad to see him. He is tied to it, magically, and the trees always grow dim and sullen when he’s gone for too long, or when he goes to the White Queen’s country. It’s not as if Gabriel gains no benefits from this bond, though; after a few moments of simply standing among the familiar trees, the tilting, airy feeling of vertigo has passed, and he feels stable enough to fly.

“First thing’s first,” he mutters to himself, and he puts his hand on the tree and seals up the doorway. It means he’ll have to struggle to open it up again later, but it’s better than having someone stumble upon the shortcut and wander through it. _Alright_ , he thinks to himself, tapping his chin thoughtfully. _The Queen said that I know who to invite to this war council of hers._ Gabriel thinks about it for a moment, and he realizes that he _does_ know who to invite.

“How convenient!” he says, laughing. The prophecy song floats by on the wind. It had always been soft and easily ignored before, but now it’s louder and more insistent, and there are drums keeping the beat that hadn’t been there the last time Gabriel heard it. This had never happened before; he chooses to take it as a sign that they’re doing the right thing.

Humming softly, he heads out to corner the first of the White Queen’s unfortunate invitees.

* * *

Time does not work in Underland the same way it works in Upperland, so Gabriel is not surprised to find that the sun has set by the time he returns to his shortcut even though his errand didn’t take long. It was both easier and more difficult to convince everyone to come to the White Queen’s castle for one more attempt at fulfilling the prophecy; easier because some people did not require much convincing at all, and more difficult because other people objected to Gabriel on a personal level and needed much more aggressive persuasion.

Under the yellowish light of the moon, Gabriel lets himself touch the ground for the first time in a while and places his hand on the tree to open his shortcut. He absolutely refuses to show weakness in front of these people, but it requires more concentration than he’d anticipated to keep his grin on his face as he pours the last dregs of his magic into the ancient wood. Sweat beads at his temples and his vision goes blurry and dark for a moment, but the doorway opens without incident and he steps back proudly to gesture his companions through.

The first to pass into the White Queen’s country are the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, and the Dormouse. They’d been the most difficult to convince, both because they hate Gabriel and because they had a strong—and very unhealthy, in Gabriel’s opinion—attachment to their endless tea party. Eventually Gabriel had gotten fed up with arguing, for the Hatter and the Hare could outmatch even his own ability to talk in circles, and Gabriel had to promise to clear up their misunderstanding with Time in order for them to agree to come. 

Now, with the Dormouse nestled safely asleep in her teapot, the Hatter and the Hare scurry through. Gabriel hopes Mirana’s guards are in the Cherry Wood already, for he hates to think what kind of chaos the Hatter and Hare could wreak unattended.

The next to pass through are the twins, the Tweedles Dee and Dum, who reside in the Tulgey Wood and so are subject to Gabriel’s authority. Just for that reason, they were the easiest to convince. Absolem, who was a caterpillar the last time Gabriel saw them, flies through next. They carry the Oraculum with them, which should not be possible because the scroll is at least the length of Gabriel’s forearm and made of thick, heavy paper. Gabriel does not try to understand it.

Trey passes by, then. Gabriel is sure he’s the only one of the Red Queen’s guards with any sense, not the least because he’s the only guard who does not feel the compulsion to rhyme as he speaks. Gabriel didn’t go to the Red Queen’s castle with the intent to abscond with a guard and a prisoner, but that’s what happened, and Trey claims to be fond enough of Gabriel and Dean to not think twice about committing treason against the Red Queen.

And finally the Duchess walks by. It was only thanks to the intervention of the Red King that she was spared from execution after Sam’s disastrous trial, and Gabriel felt guilty about abandoning her. He found her locked up in the dungeon with her pig, and with Trey’s help it was easy enough to break her out. As she passes him by, she pauses to put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. He’s known her for almost as long as he’s been living in Underland, and he’s sure that she, of all people, can see exactly how difficult opening this shortcut was for him.

But then she walks through the doorway, and Gabriel darts through after her and barely makes it out on the other side before the door slams shut. The cherry blossom trees seem to glow under the light of the moon, and this time it has nothing to do with Gabriel’s magic. Thankfully, two of Mirana’s guards are there with lanterns, tall and stern-faced.

“Is that everyone?” one of them asks.

“Yes,” says Gabriel shortly. He is only upright through sheer force of will. “I assume Her Majesty is waiting up to receive them. Take them to her, and do not worry about me. I know the way to the castle from here.”

He grins and disappears. He doesn’t go anywhere; he only has the energy to hide himself from view. But the guards seem to think he is gone completely, for they immediately start to talk about him as they lead their new charges toward the castle. The Duchess lags behind them for a moment and looks, unnervingly, directly at Gabriel, even though he knows he is invisible.

“Do not strain yourself, Gabriel,” she says softly. “You are not infallible, and there are people who would be upset if you were to be hurt.”

Gabriel holds his breath, eyes wide, until the Duchess nods in satisfaction, scoops up her pig, and hurries after the others. As the orange light of the guards’ lanterns fades, Gabriel lets himself become visible again and drops heavily to his knees, panting. Black spots dance across his vision and he cannot hear anything except a shrill ringing in his ears, and for a moment it’s all he can do to stay awake. He doesn’t even realize that he is not alone until the ringing fades and he becomes aware that Dean is kneeling next to him and calling his name, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Dean?” says Gabriel in shock. “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been here the entire time,” Dean says, relief breaking over his expression. A dark cloak is draped over his shoulders, the hood still pulled over his hair. If he were standing in the shadows of the trees, he’d be nearly invisible. “I was worried when you didn’t return after a while, so I snuck out and followed the guards here.”

Gabriel tries to grin his usual sharp-toothed grin but that takes entirely too much effort, so instead he smiles softly with his mouth closed. 

“Silly boy,” he says. “You’re not a prisoner in Mirana’s castle. You do not need to sneak out.”

“Don’t waste your breath talking about things that aren’t important right now,” says Dean. Gabriel wobbles on his knees and nearly falls over, but Dean catches him by the shoulders and arranges them so that they’re both sitting flat on the ground, with Gabriel sideways in his lap and leaning against his chest. If it were anyone else, Gabriel would fight tooth and nail to get away, but he trusts Dean, and he’s too comfortable and exhausted to move, anyway.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Not hurt,” Gabriel murmurs, his eyes drifting shut. “Just tired. Creating shortcuts between this place and the Red Queen’s country has always been very draining.”

Dean sighs. “You shouldn’t have gone, then, if you knew it would exhaust you like this. But if you’re not hurt, then you simply need rest,” he says.

And food and water, for he’s dreadfully hungry and thirsty by now, and he wouldn’t say no to a warm fireplace to curl up in front of, either. But rest is a good start. He sags a little more against Dean’s shoulder and says, “Yes. We’ll go back in a bit, but give me a moment, please.”

Dean doesn’t say anything in response, but he wraps his arms around Gabriel and rests his chin on top of Gabriel’s head, and for a long while they sit there together in soft, comforting silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Any guesses on what's to come? Concerns about the characters? Incoherent screaming because of joy or rage? Let me know down below! I respond to comments unless you sign it with "whisper" and I love it when you guys tell me what you think!


	15. War Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Queen calls together a war council to discuss the problem of her sister, and Castiel learns something shocking about Gabriel.

The morning of the war council dawns pale and watery, and even though Castiel left his drapes open last night, it’s not the sunlight streaming in through the window that wakes him up, but a servant knocking on the door with breakfast. Eager to start the day, Castiel eats quickly and hurriedly changes his clothes. The servant brought a fresh set of clothes with them but Castiel does not particularly want to walk around wearing nothing but white. He takes the white shirt and fresh underclothes from the pile, but chooses to wear the pants, jacket, and boots from his old uniform.

Then, fed and dressed, he ventures forth into the hallways of the castle and tries to find his way to the meeting room. Queen Mirana showed it to him, Sam, and Dean last night so that they would know where to go, but the castle is like a labyrinth, and Castiel soon finds himself hopelessly lost. This place is nothing like the Red Queen’s castle, with its long, straightforward hallways, though the one thing both castles have in common is that the hallways are ominously empty. Castiel wanders for a long while, and despite the fact that he doubles back often to try to retrace his steps, he never seems to end up in the same hallway twice.

Eventually he stumbles upon the room by pure chance, when Sam opens the door just as Castiel is walking by.

“Castiel!” Sam says. “There you are. We were wondering where you were. Everyone else has already arrived.”

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” says Castiel, following Sam into the room. “I’m afraid the room was a bit difficult to find without a guide.” That is a gross understatement; if Sam hadn’t opened the door when he did, Castiel might’ve never found his way out of the recesses of the hallways.

“I apologize for that,” says Queen Mirana. “The person who brought you breakfast was supposed to lead you here. In any case, now that everyone is here, we can finally begin.”

Castiel and Sam sit in the only two empty chairs left at the enormous circular table in the middle of the room. Everything is white, from the walls to the furniture to the high, arched ceiling. Two of the walls are mostly glass windows which overlook the forest of cherry blossom trees surrounding the castle.

Castiel looks around. There aren’t quite as many people here as he’d expected, and to his surprise, the Queen’s entourage of courtiers are conspicuously absent. Instead Castiel sees mostly familiar faces: the Queen, Gabriel, and the Winchesters are there, of course. But he also sees the Tweedle twins, one of the red card guards from the Red Queen’s castle, and the Duchess, who smiles beatifically at him from across the table. Then there are the people he doesn’t recognize: a red-haired man in a tall hat, a rabbit—not whatever strange pseudo-rabbit Underland has turned Castiel into, but an actual rabbit—a little white mouse with a needle-like sword, and a pink butterfly who is puffing little clouds of green smoke into the air.

Once they’ve gone around and introduced themselves, Queen Mirana stands up and places the tips of her fingers delicately on the table.

“I’m sure you all know why I’ve called you here,” she begins. “My sister’s illegitimate reign has long been unbearable, but now we have another chance at defeating her and fulfilling the prophecy.”

All eyes shift to Sam and Dean, who look uncomfortable being, suddenly, the center of attention. Under the table, Castiel pats Sam’s knee.

“If we are to succeed, I will require every one of you to swear your allegiance to me as the rightful Queen of Underland,” Mirana continues. “Once I am crowned, we will do this officially, but for now, I simply ask: do you swear fealty to me?”

There is a pause, but not a terribly long one.

“Yes,” says everyone at the table. Mirana smiles.

“Excellent. Now, to get down to business. In order to fulfill the prophecy, we must accomplish three tasks. We must retrieve the Vorpal Sword, we must take care of the Jubjub bird and the Bandersnatch, and we must slay the Jabberwock.”

“It sounds simple when you put it like that,” says the Hatter, “but last time we didn’t even accomplish the first task. In fact, no one’s ever accomplished the first task.” He laughs obnoxiously.

“The would-be Jabberwock-Slayer barely made it out with his life, if what I heard is correct,” says Trey. “The Red Queen was quite in a tizzy about it for days because he’d almost made it past the Bandersnatch.”

“That is true,” says Mirana, “but we have certain advantages now that we didn’t have back then. Cheshire Cat?”

Castiel frowns. What could Gabriel possibly have to do with any of this, besides being Guardian of the Tulgey Wood where the Bandersnatch resides? True, he and Castiel had recently fallen into Underland when this failed attempt to overthrow the Red Queen took place, but surely Gabriel hadn’t been _involved_ , had he?

Gabriel, for his part, looks more nervous than Castiel’s ever seen him. His hair is practically standing on end, his ears almost flat against his head. He looks at Dean, who gives him a reassuring smile—though, Castiel notices, Dean looks confused as well. And then, to Castiel’s surprise, Gabriel looks over at him. Whatever he sees in Castiel’s face makes Gabriel set his mouth in determination.

“Alright,” Gabriel says quietly, as though bolstering his own courage. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the same little round thing he’d shown to Mirana yesterday. The twins’ eyes nearly bulge out of their heads. The Hatter wheezes in shock. The Hare collapses to the floor.

“Is that the Bandersnatch’s _eye_?” Trey exclaims.

The Duchess looks perhaps the most stricken. She’s gone pale and still in her seat, her lips pinched, her eyes wide.

“Gabriel,” she says, “were you the one to fight the Bandersnatch?”

Castiel cannot breathe. He realizes he’s probably crushing Sam’s hand, but he couldn’t loosen his grip even if he wanted to.

“Yes,” says Gabriel, and he’d look calm if not for his tail lashing furiously behind him. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Not so very long,” Trey says, looking at Gabriel as if in a new light.

“Long enough,” says Gabriel crossly, “for the Bandersnatch to miss her eye. She’ll want it back. Perhaps we can make a trade.”

“She’s been set by the Red Queen herself to guard the Sword,” says the Hatter, apparently over his shock. “What makes you think she’ll give it up so easily?” The Hare, who is slumped over the table being fanned by the little Dormouse, nods in snide agreement.

“She is not loyal to the big-head,” Gabriel says. He’s growing more and more obviously annoyed. His grin is something like a sneer now, especially when he looks at the Hatter and the Hare.

“But how do you _know?_ ” the Hare asks.

“Because she told me so herself!” Gabriel snaps. “I spoke with her, for a short while, back when I—well, when I encountered her.”

This only prompts another round of questioning from everyone around the table. There’s a a tiny buzzing sound that Castiel can hear, even if it appears no one else can, and after a moment he realizes what it is: Gabriel is growling. His grin is gone now; he looks completely uncomfortable with everyone talking at him, but that can’t be right, can it? The Gabriel Castiel had grown up with was only ever comfortable when he was the center of attention and would never be uncomfortable when telling a story. 

Then again, the Gabriel Castiel had grown up with would never risk his life to fight such a beast as the Bandersnatch. 

Castiel stands up, sending his chair skidding back. All gazes slide to him. Dean is half out of his seat, too, as if he was two seconds from lunging to where Gabriel is hovering above the center of the table.

“Gabriel,” Castiel says in the sudden quiet. “May I speak with you?”

Sam squeezes his hand in silent support.

“Um,” says Gabriel, uncharacteristically inelegant. “Yes, of course.”

“You may use the side room,” says Mirana, gesturing to a door set into the wall that Castiel hadn’t noticed before.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” says Castiel. He glances quickly at the Winchesters. Dean looks like he wants nothing more than to go with Castiel and Gabriel, and it’s only the warning look Sam is levelling him with that’s keeping him in his seat. Castiel’s heart swells with fondness, both for Sam because of how he’s always tried to help Castiel, and for Dean because of how he’s always tried to protect Gabriel. Castiel’s feelings about Gabriel himself are more complicated.

Without checking to see if Gabriel is following him, Castiel walks across the room to the door Mirana pointed out. It leads to a little sitting room, decorated in just as much opulent whiteness as the rest of the castle. Castiel sits in one of the armchairs and waits. A moment later, Gabriel flies through the door and closes it, and instead of sitting in the chair across from Castiel, he leans against the door and watches Castiel like he’s afraid.

For a moment neither of them speaks. Castiel doesn’t really know what to say. Finally, he takes in a deep breath. 

“Gabriel, what did you _do_?”

“I should think that’s obvious by now,” says Gabriel with a wry smile. “I tried to get us home, and I failed. Rather spectacularly, if I may say so.”

“You fought the Bandersnatch,” Castiel says numbly. “Is it true what they said out there? Is it true that you almost died?”

Gabriel winces. “That’s possibly an exaggeration,” he says, but Castiel is only half-paying attention. He remembers what it was like all those years ago when he’d first heard that someone had attempted to fulfil the prophecy. Castiel didn’t really pay attention because he was busy, newly hired by the Red Queen, but he does remember Gabriel locking himself in his room at the Duchess’ house and refusing to help Castiel look for a way home. At the time Castiel thought Gabriel was being recalcitrant and selfish, but now he fears it was something else entirely. 

“You were bedridden for weeks!” he exclaims. “I didn’t see you once in all that time.”

“I know,” Gabriel says miserably. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Castiel resists the urge to laugh, because he knows that if he starts laughing he’ll end up crying instead. “I thought you were simply refusing to help me get home. I had no idea about the Bandersnatch or that you were injured. Oh, and all this time I’ve held it against you.” Castiel puts his face into his hands and shudders. 

Gabriel can be completely silent when he wants to be, so Castiel knows it’s for his benefit that he can hear Gabriel as he moves closer. Tentatively, Gabriel puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and the other under Castiel’s chin, gently urging him to look up. 

“You were right to blame me,” Gabriel says, more serious than Castiel’s seen him in a while, and more upset, too. Unlike Castiel, Gabriel doesn’t seem to be trying to hold back his tears; they spill over his cheeks and drip off of his chin. “I was the one who convinced you to come to Underland with me in the first place, and I was the one who walked deeper into the woods even when you told me you wanted to go home. And then after the Bandersnatch, I bound myself to the Tulgey Wood to save my own life and because of that, I couldn’t leave Underland even if I had wanted to.”

Gabriel sobs, and Castiel reaches up to grip Gabriel’s wrists. 

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Gabriel cries. “And I certainly never meant to trap you here with me. I’m sorry, Castiel, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Gabriel,” Castiel says as Gabriel devolves into sobs. Castiel pulls his cousin into a hug and holds him tight, and he doesn’t let go even when the sharp little claws at the ends of Gabriel’s fingers pierce tiny holes through the fabric of his jacket. “I’m sorry as well. I’m sorry I never gave you the chance to explain.”

Gabriel’s grip tightens. They hold each other for a long time, long enough that Castiel’s leg is starting to go numb where Gabriel is leaning against him. When they pull apart, Gabriel sits back against the air and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” says Gabriel.

“Are you?” says Castiel. “Or are you sorry I had to find out at all?”

Gabriel stays silent and looks away, which answers Castiel’s question well enough.

“After the Bandersnatch,” he says, “I gave up. I shouldn’t have, especially because I was giving up on you as well as myself, and I’m sorry about that, Castiel, I’m sorry about all of this. I’m sorry any of this happened, and I’m sorry I caused it.”

Castiel sighs. “I must admit I’m still angry with you, but less so now. Still, I cannot forgive you so easily.”

“I don’t expect you to,” says Gabriel. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this up to you, Castiel, I swear.”

“Well, this is a good start,” says Castiel, gesturing to the door that leads to the meeting room. “I’m sure it must be difficult for you, after what happened last time.”

Hesitantly, Gabriel nods.

“And there is one more thing,” Castiel says. “No more apologizing. The past has already happened; there is no use dwelling on it. All we can do is learn our lessons and try not to repeat our mistakes.”

“You’re right,” says Gabriel. He smiles weakly “When did you get so wise?”

“Sometime during the few decades I’ve been living here, I suppose,” Castiel says. He watches as Gabriel removes his head from his shoulders and holds it out in front of him, turning it this way and that as if checking for any stray tears he may have missed. “We’re both different than we used to be. Do you think you’d recognize yourself if you could go back to when we first came here?”

Frowning contemplatively, Gabriel puts his head back on. “I guess not,” he says eventually. “But I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I was even more of a prick back then than I am now.”

Castiel laughs. “True,” he says. “Are you ready to go back out there? I fear if we take any more time, Dean might burst through the door to make sure you’re alright.”

Gabriel startles. “What? What do you mean? Why would he do that?”

“Because he worries about you, of course.” A pleased flush steals over Gabriel’s cheeks, and he turns away to hide it but not fast enough.

“Well, I am still his guide, I suppose, because I have not yet gotten him home,” he says. Castiel stares at him.

“As much as you applaud Dean for being perceptive,” he says eventually, “you are perhaps the most oblivious person I have ever met.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you don’t know by now, I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”

“You know,” Gabriel muses, “Dean said something similar to me not too long ago.”

“I cannot imagine why,” says Castiel dryly. “Come on, then, let’s go. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Except they are not waiting when Castiel and Gabriel exit the little room, and in fact, it seems that an argument has broken out while Castiel and Gabriel were indisposed. As soon as Castiel passes over the threshold of the door, he becomes aware that most of Mirana’s war council is yelling, leaning angrily over the table and screaming at each other, except for the March Hare, who seems to be shrieking wordlessly whenever it suits his fancy.

“Oh, dear,” says Castiel mildly.

“Oh, my,” says Gabriel. He seems delighted, wide-eyed and smiling. Were it not for the red rims around his eyes, it would be impossible to tell that he’d just been crying. Dean, though, looks up and frowns when he catches sight of Gabriel, as Gabriel and Castiel retake their seats. Castiel doesn’t hear whatever Dean says to Gabriel, but it makes Gabriel smile. Castiel doesn’t know whether to be happy for them or irritated by Gabriel’s happiness—a petty but long-standing instinct. He turns instead to Sam, who is pale and straight-backed in his seat.

“What’s going on?” Castiel asks. The Hatter picks up the Dormouse, who is brandishing her tiny sword, and flings her screaming across the table. She almost skewers Absolem.

“They are arguing about who should be the Jabberwock-Slayer,” Sam says. “At the moment, the consensus seems to be that it should be Dean.”

Interestingly enough, Sam seems more worried about this than Dean himself, who is watching the arguing intently. Across the table, Mirana, who’d had her head buried in her arms, looks up and notices that Gabriel and Castiel have returned.

“Cheshire Cat!” she says, her voice cutting effortlessly through the arguing. Castiel’s ears ring in the sudden silence.

“Your Majesty?” Gabriel says, startled.

“Perhaps you and your cousin can help put this argument to rest. You two have spent the most time with the Winchesters. Who is to be the Jabberwock-Slayer and fulfil the prophecy?”

Castiel and Gabriel look at each other, and Castiel dips his head, giving Gabriel the floor. He’ll follow Gabriel’s lead on this, because out of the two of them, Gabriel knows the prophecy best. The second reason, the more selfish reason, is that Castiel would choose Dean to face the Jabberwock if only to protect Sam, but if anything were to happen to Dean as a result, Sam might never forgive him. Castiel doesn’t want to be the one responsible for making such a decision.

“Did you consult the Oraculum?” Gabriel asks. Castiel gasps, and he isn’t the only one. The last anyone heard of the Oraculum, it’d been destroyed decades ago when the Red Queen took over Underland. It was before Castiel even came here, but even he knows its importance to the people of Underland. Sam and Dean, predictably, look nonplussed.

“What is the Oraculum?” Dean asks.

“It is an old and powerful artifact,” says Mirana. “It tells the complete history of Underland—everything that has happened, but also everything that will happen. I thought it was lost long ago.”

“It was,” says Gabriel. “But then the Oracle returned and found it. I am not surprised no one noticed. The Oracle doesn’t exactly look the way they used to.”

“Who is it?” Mirana asks, leaning forward intently.

The butterfly clears their throat.

“That would be me,” says Absolem. They gesture to the scroll on the table next to them. “And this would be the Oraculum.”

“Incredible,” Mirana breathes. She reaches a trembling hand for the scroll but stops herself before her fingertips make contact with the paper.

“How come you didn’t speak up before?” Trey asks suspiciously.

“No one asked,” Absolem says dryly. 

“Absolem,” says Gabriel, “will you show us the prophecy?”

“If I must.” Absolem sighs a long, slow stream of orange smoke that swirls gently around the scroll. They flap their wings frantically, and the rush of wind as they take to the air disperses the smoke and sends the scroll flying open with a snap. Castiel scoots his chair to the side just in time to avoid the end of the scroll as it falls off the edge of the table.

“Wow,” Sam breathes, eyes wide. “This is incredible!”

“It is,” Castiel agrees, just as awed.

The scroll lays flat, but the words and images that were printed on it in black ink seem to have come alive. The little figures walk and move, while the words write and erase themselves seemingly at random.

“Oh, my,” says the Duchess, peering at the scroll where it passes by her. “Oh, look, pig, here’s you and I in jail!”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” says Gabriel distractedly. He hovers over the table, studying the Oraculum, and slaps the March Hare’s hand away when he reaches for the paper. “Here it is. Absolem, what do you think?”

Absolem flies to Gabriel and studies the paper. “Ah, yes, the Frabjous Day—the day that the Jabberwock is slayed. And the prophecy—”

“It’s over here. Look at this part. The pronoun shifts.”

“Very interesting. Do you think, then, that—”

“Perhaps. It makes as much sense as anything. And it certainly can’t be—”

“Oh, no, absolutely not. And see, here, the personalities—”

“Yes, I see. I hadn’t noticed that before.”

Mirana taps her fingernails against the table, the only indication that she is impatient. Dean does not have her restraint.

“Gabriel,” he says loudly, “ _what_ are you talking about?”

Gabriel looks at Absolem, who nods and begins the long process of rolling the scroll back up. Castiel wonders if he should help, but Absolem is strangely strong and quick for a butterfly.

“Alright,” says Gabriel. “We’ve concluded that there is no one Jabberwock-Slayer.”

“Bloody brilliant,” says the Hatter sarcastically. Mirana holds up a hand to silence him before Gabriel can respond.

“Please explain yourself, Cheshire Cat,” she says.

“The prophecy tells of two people who work together to slay the Jabberwock,” Gabriel says, grinning widely. “There is a thinker, and there is a doer. There is the one who finds the Jabberwock and the one who slays it.”

“What he means,” Absolem interrupts, “is that both of the brothers must fulfill the prophecy.”

“That’s where we always failed before,” Gabriel continues. He casts a quick glance at Castiel. “Everyone who tried previously worked alone. Maybe if they had worked together, someone could have succeeded by now.”

Castiel smiles bitterly down at his lap.

“Interesting,” says Mirana, frowning thoughtfully. “And are you sure that this will work?”

“Not at all,” Absolem drawls.

Gabriel grimaces. “At this point, I don’t think we have any other choice.” He turns to Dean, and then Sam. “I hate to be gambling with your lives like this, but I do think that we must at least try.”

Sam is very pale, but his voice does not waver when he answers. “Well, of course we must. It is our only way home.”

Castiel is struck by a sudden shock of anxiety, and he puts his hand on Sam’s knee and squeezes to gain his attention. “You do not have to,” he says. “You can still say no, and we would not hold it against you.”

“Well. . .” says the March Hare. The Duchess pushes him out of his chair.

“Sam and Gabriel are right,” says Dean. “We have no other choice.”

Castiel bites his lip.

“Of course you will not be doing this alone,” Mirana says. “You’ll have the full support of all my resources. Anything within my power to give will be yours if you need it.”

“The same goes for me,” says the Duchess.

“And me,” Trey adds, and one by one everyone around the table vocalizes their support. The Hatter and the March Hare do so lastly and reluctantly, but their gazes don’t waver and Castiel doesn’t doubt their sincerity.

Sam and Dean exchange solemn glances.

“Together, alright?” Dean says.

“Together,” Sam agrees. Castiel’s grip tightens around Sam’s knee, and Sam turns to smile reassuringly at him. He pries Castiel’s hand off of his leg and twines their fingers together. “Don’t worry, Castiel. I’m sure this potion will be able to send you home as well.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Castiel says quietly. Sam opens his mouth to respond, but Mirana speaks before he can.

“We still have three tasks; having two Jabberwock-Slayers does not change this. Now, retrieving the Vorpal Sword might be easier because we have its eye.”

“ _Her_ eye,” Gabriel says. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to get the Sword. The Bandersnatch is not loyal to the Red Queen, and she will want her eye back, and she’s not so unreasonable, really.”

“She almost killed you,” says the Duchess.

“She’s not _so_ unreasonable,” Gabriel says stubbornly. “And if you ask me—”

“ _Nobody—_ ” says the Mad Hatter, but the Duchess reaches around the Hare and tugs the brim of his hat down over his face.

“If you ask me,” Gabriel continues, “Sam should be the one to get the sword.”

Castiel stops breathing.

Dean lets out an angry little noise. “I won’t send him anywhere dangerous,” he says.

“Oh, you can’t help that,” Gabriel says, grinning. “Everywhere is dangerous down here, you know. But of the two of you, I believe Sam is better equipped for this task.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” says Sam. He takes a deep breath and squeezes Castiel’s hand. “I trust Gabriel’s judgement. If he believes that it’s better for me to go, then I’ll go.”

“And I’ll be with him the whole time,” Gabriel adds, and everyone looks at him in surprise. His gaze doesn’t stray from Dean. His expression softens. “I wouldn’t send him to his death, Dean, and especially not alone.”

Dean frowns at Gabriel for a moment longer, then nods once. “Fine,” he says.

“Excellent,” says Mirana. “Now the question remains of how we’re going to draw out the Jabberwock. Iracebeth only ever brings it out in dire situations, and the same goes for the Jubjub bird.”

“Well, that’s simple, isn’t it?” says Sam. “We must force her hand. We must bring the fight to her.”

Castiel blinks in surprise.

“Ruthless little boy,” says the Duchess approvingly.

“You know, that idea isn’t half bad,” says the Hatter thoughtfully.

“Good. Hatter, I’d like you and the twins to begin planning our strategy of attack. My sister is doubtless aware that something is amiss by now, but perhaps if we act soon, we can still catch her by surprise. Cheshire Cat, how soon will you leave to find the Sword?”

Gabriel glances at Sam. “Immediately,” he says. “Within the next half hour, if possible. It will take us time to get the Sword back, and time is something we don’t have much of.” He seems embarrassed. “Perhaps I forgot to mention it, but the Red Queen is aware that we are planning something. She saw me when I was freeing the Duchess and collecting Trey, and she knows that we are with you.”

Mirana’s nostrils flare in anger. “Then we are on a tighter schedule than I thought. Hatter, Tweedles, stay here, please. I’ll be back shortly and we can begin a strategy meeting. Any of you who wish to join in may do so, and I’ll also call in the general of my army. Sam, Cheshire Cat, come with me. I’ll have the servants prepare some things for you to take when you leave.”

She rises gracefully to her feet and strides out of the room. Castiel, Dean, and Sam scramble to keep up with her, and Gabriel flies along above them and laughs, though it sounds nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! It seriously makes my day to get those notification emails that someone's left a comment on my fic :)


	16. Bandersnatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gabriel enter the realm of the Bandersnatch. Beware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind that blood and injury tag!

Dean and Castiel see them off from the castle’s front garden, both of them visibly anxious. Sam, Gabriel thinks, is holding up the best out of the four of them, though he’s not sure if that’s because Sam is young enough to think himself invincible or confident enough not to worry too much. He has a leather satchel thrown over his shoulder, filled with food and water from Mirana’s kitchen. To Gabriel the Queen gave a dagger which he’d stuck in his boot. If everything goes according to plan, however, he won’t need it.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Castiel says. He and Gabriel are very carefully not looking at each other, instead watching as Dean and Sam hug tightly a few paces away.

“When have you ever known me to do anything stupid?” Gabriel asks, and Castiel turns his head to glower at him.

“I’m serious, Gabriel.”

“So am I,” says Gabriel cheerfully. “Don’t worry so much, Cassie. You’ll get worry lines, you know.”

Castiel frowns exaggeratedly, and cracks a tiny smile when Gabriel laughs.

“I can’t help it,” Castiel says. “You two are going alone into danger. I mean, the last time you faced the Bandersnatch, it injured you, and rather badly, I assume, because I did not see you for weeks afterwards.”

Gabriel’s hand strays to his shoulder, where the Bandersnatch’s claw marks were the deepest. They’d scored from his left shoulder almost to his waist, but they weren’t life-threatening. Admittedly, much of those few weeks when he was ignoring his cousin was spent wallowing after his failed attempt at retrieving the Vorpal Sword, but Gabriel wouldn’t admit that even under pain of death.

“I am confident that things will be different this time,” Gabriel says. “In fact, I know they will be.”

“Alright,” Castiel says after a moment. “I trust you.”

Gabriel smiles at him, surprised and genuine.

“Castiel,” Sam says, walking up to them with Dean in tow. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Not goodbye,” Castiel says immediately, reaching for Sam’s hand. “We have been through too much together and have too much to look forward to for this to be goodbye. It’s just—farewell for now.”

“Farewell for now,” Sam repeats, smiling softly as he stares into Castiel’s eyes. 

“I hope you don’t expect us to make such prolonged and meaningful eye contact,” says Gabriel lightly, only to turn and find Dean watching him with a peculiar expression on his face—an expression Gabriel can only describe as _intense_. “What is it?”

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Dean says.

“Of course,” Gabriel says, grinning. “I’ll bring him back safe.”

“And yourself, as well,” Dean insists. “You must _both_ come back safe.” It looks for a moment as though he is going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He swallows thickly, his green eyes nervous.

Gabriel’s grin softens. “We’ll be fine,” he says, and reaches up to pat Dean’s head. He stands on his toes instead of flying because he knows it amuses Dean that Gabriel is shorter than him. “You and Castiel both are such worriers.”

“In this case, I don’t think we can hold it against them,” says Sam. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” says Gabriel. He looks at Dean and Castiel and puts his hands on his hips. “Chin up, boys. We’ll be back with the Sword before you know it. Come along, Sam. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

“Wonderful,” Sam sighs. He and Gabriel wave goodbye to Dean and Castiel, and then they walk together into the Cherry Wood. They travel to the shortcut in silence, and Sam stands back while Gabriel presses his hand to the tree and urges the doorway to open. When they pass through, Sam begins walking immediately, but Gabriel calls him back.

“Hold on for a moment,” he says, and closes up the doorway. A moment later he sighs explosively and steps away, panting, and there’s no trace that there was ever a door etched into the bark at all. “Now we can go, but you should let me go first. You were going the wrong way, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a right or wrong way at all, in this forest,” says Sam.

“Well, of course there is! Look—everywhere you’ve gone, you’ve gotten there by walking forwards, yes?”

“Yes, I suppose,” says Sam thoughtfully.

“So forward is the right direction to walk in if you’re trying to get somewhere. But the Bandersnatch resides in a cursed part of the wood, and in fact the whole point is that you’re not supposed to try to get there at all. In that case, you’d need to walk _backward_ to get there.”

Sam ponders this for a moment. “You’ve lost me,” he says eventually.

“That’s all right,” says Gabriel cheerfully. “I know where we’re going. Simply follow my lead.”

He begins walking backward through the trees and, after a moment of hesitation, Sam turns around and walks backwards after him.

“What if we trip and fall?” he asks.

“Hmm,” says Gabriel. “Good point. I will fly, then, and keep lookout for you. You, however, must keep walking backwards.”

He flies over to Sam and stays somewhat in front of and to the side of him, keeping a perfunctory eye on the ground behind Sam.

“May I ask you a question?” Sam asks.

“You just did,” Gabriel points out.

“You can be very difficult sometimes. I can see why my brother likes you. No, I meant a different question,” he says without giving Gabriel a chance to respond to the first part.

Gabriel averts his eyes, his cheeks warm, and says, “What’s your question?”

“Why did you have to close the door after we came through? I’ve never seen you do that before. Usually they close on their own.”

“Ah,” says Gabriel. He is quiet for a moment as he wonders how to answer. It’s not exactly something he’s ever had to explain before; he simply came by the knowledge himself, and no one else has ever asked. “The magic I used to make that shortcut is very old, and old magic has a tendency to become somewhat sentient. If I didn’t close it, the shortcut would stay open because it wants to, and who knows what kind of unsavory characters would wander through?”

“Is that why it’s so difficult for you to open that shortcut?” Sam asks. “Because you have to fight against the magic itself?”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Gabriel muses. “I must admit I haven’t thought much about it.” He takes Sam’s shoulders and gently guides him around a thick root protruding from the ground. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” says Sam, very seriously. “My mother says I’ve got a passion for knowledge.”

Gabriel smiles, amused. “That’s good. Curiosity is very healthy, you know.” A chill runs down his spine, and he looks around. The trees here are glowing, as Tulgey trees are wont to do, but the light is faint and somewhat sickly, a pale green instead of the rich reds and purples Gabriel prefers in his part of the forest.

Sam beams at him. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I don’t mean to give you a big head—bigger than you seem to have already, anyway—”

“Hey,” Gabriel protests mildly.

“But you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve met since coming to Underland.” His expression turns sly. “I’m sure my brother feels the same. I can tell that he’s fascinated by you.”

Gabriel falls out of the air. Sam stops, surprised.

“Goodness,” he says. “Are you really that flustered?”

Gabriel is, but he refuses to admit to it, and in any case, it wasn’t what Sam said that caused him to fall.

“No,” he says, pulling himself to his feet, “look around. We’ve passed into the cursed part of the forest, outside of my domain. I have very little power here. I cannot easily fly or make shortcuts, so from now on we must be very careful.”

“Oh,” says Sam, looking around in trepidation. For the first time, he seems to notice how dark and dreary the forest is around them, how stale and warm the air, and how uninviting the overall atmosphere. He looks up. “It’s night time already!”

“It’s always night here,” Gabriel says. “Come on, this way. You may walk forwards now.”

Gabriel sets a quick pace; he doesn’t want to linger here, and the sooner they get the Sword, the sooner they can leave. These trees are still Tulgey trees and Gabriel can still feel them the same way he feels the rest of the Wood, but the curse that lies over the Bandersnatch’s land dampens that connection until Gabriel can barely feel it. He’s been part of the Tulgey Wood for so long now that losing that connection feels like losing a part of himself.

“But how can it be night if it was morning only an hour ago?” Sam asks, jolting Gabriel out of his thoughts. Despite being taller, Sam is jogging a bit to keep up. Gabriel slows down so that he and Sam can walk side by side, and he reminds himself that he isn’t alone this time.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that time does not work the same way down here as it does in Upperland,” Gabriel says. “It’s part of the curse, I think, that it is always night time here. It makes the Bandersnatch irritated. She hasn’t seen the sun in decades, and that would make anyone cranky, I suspect.

“Poor thing,” Sam murmurs sympathetically. Gabriel smiles. This is precisely why he’d brought Sam along and not Dean. “Hold on—decades? Just how old is this Bandersnatch?”

Gabriel shakes his head. “If time does not work correctly here, then age certainly doesn’t. Things tend not to have a _natural lifespan_ here in Underland.”

Sam ponders this for a moment. “How old are you?” he asks eventually. “That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind,” Gabriel says. “It’s just odd to think about—even for me. When I came to Underland I was nineteen, but that was many decades ago, or something like decades, at least.”

“Decades!” Sam exclaims. “You still look nineteen.”

“Yes, I do,” says Gabriel. He grins slyly. Turnabout is fair play, and he’s seen the way Sam and Castiel are with each other. “And Castiel still looks the same age he was when he came here, as well.”

Sam studies the ground. “And what age is that?” he asks a little too nonchalantly. 

Gabriel smiles. “He is fifteen, so close enough to your own age, I think. I’m not exactly sure how old you are.”

Sam blushes. “Are we nearly there?”

Abruptly Gabriel remembers where they are and what they are doing. He’d gotten caught up in meddling with his cousin’s love life, but now he sobers.

“Yes, we are, so we’d better be quiet from here on in.”

Gabriel wishes he had his magic still; being on the ground is making him feel vulnerable. Eventually they come across a clearing, and in the center of the clearing rests a ramshackle hovel: dark, dank, and leaning ominously to the left. Sam and Gabriel stop at the edge of the clearing and crouch in the sparse cover of a scraggly bush.

“Is this where the Bandersnatch lives?” Sam asks, his voice hushed. 

“Yes,” Gabriel whispers. “The Sword resides in the shack, but so does the Bandersnatch. This is where the big-head keeps her when she has no use for her.”

Sam makes a sympathetic noise. “So what do we do? We have no weapons aside from your knife, and I doubt that will be much use against the Bandersnatch, if she is as formidable as everyone claims.”

“Weapons?” exclaims Gabriel. Sam frantically shushes him, and Gabriel’s voice is quieter but no less surprised when he says, “We won’t need weapons. I’m not planning to fight her.”

“Alright,” says Sam, “then what _is_ your plan?”

Gabriel considers the Bandersnatch’s shack, and he considers the promise he made to Dean, and then he looks at Sam, who is watching him patiently.

“My plan is very simple,” says Gabriel. “I’ll distract the Bandersnatch, and you’ll go into the house and get the Sword.”

Sam hesitates. “But you don’t have your magic here,” he says. “And all you have is your knife.”

“Don’t worry about me,” says Gabriel. He is helpless to stop his smile; Sam really is very sweet. “Like I said, I’m not going to fight her. I just need to buy you some time.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asks.

“Yes.” Gabriel stands up and stretches. “Stay out of sight until the Bandersnatch is distracted, and try not to take too long. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold her attention.”

“Okay,” says Sam as Gabriel slinks out into the clearing. “Be careful.”

Gabriel wishes he were invisible as he approaches the gaping doorway of the shack, but as scared as he is—and, despite the confidence he’d portrayed for Sam’s benefit, he _is_ scared—maybe it’s better that he’s so jarringly visible against the darkness of the forest. He’d make a rather poor distraction if the Bandersnatch couldn’t see him. With that in mind, he steps out further into the clearing and clears his throat.

“Hello?” he calls. “Is anyone in there?”

The darkness inside of the shack shifts. Gabriel takes a few steps back despite himself, his ears flat and his tail lashing behind him. His pulse quickens until it is racing in his chest. With a low growl that makes Gabriel want to turn tail and run, the Bandersnatch slowly emerges from the darkness of her hut.

She looks much the same as she did the last time Gabriel saw her: a huge, hulking mass of gray-blue fur with wicked claws and a gaping maw full of needle-like teeth set underneath a pair of beady little eyes. Well, one eye, at least. The other resides in Gabriel’s pocket.

The Bandersnatch seems to recognize him. She roars loudly enough to make Gabriel’s ears ring, and she crouches like she’s preparing to pounce.

“Wait, wait!” Gabriel says, holding his hands out in front of him placatingly. “Please, I didn’t come to fight you.”

Shockingly, the Bandersnatch hesitates, growling in irritation. Very slowly, and very deliberately, she sits on her haunches and dips her head, still baring her teeth. To Gabriel, the message is clear: _Explain yourself, then, and it had better be good._

“Look,” says Gabriel. In the corner of his vision, Sam creeps silently along the edge of the treeline, and Gabriel is careful to keep his gaze on the Bandersnatch so as not to give Sam away. “Look, I know that things got a bit out of control the last time you and I met.”

The Bandersnatch lifts a paw to her face and snarls. _You stabbed out my eye!_

Gabriel winces sheepishly. “Out of control, like I said, and stabbed is perhaps an exaggeration. But,” he exclaims quickly when the Bandersnatch jerks to her feet angrily, “I’ve come with a different purpose this time.” Sam slips into the shack.

The Bandersnatch huffs disbelievingly. _My purpose is to keep the Sword out of the hands of Underlanders like you. If I did not have that, I would not have anything. But you Underlanders are obsessed with the Sword, and many of you have come seeking both it and my hide. Why else have you come, then, if not to kill me and steal the Sword?_

Gabriel hesitates. This is the moment where everything will either go very right, or very wrong. “Well,” he says slowly, “I have a proposition for you.”

Everything goes wrong.

The Bandersnatch’s ear twitches, and she whips her head around toward the shack, like she’s heard something. Gabriel doesn’t know what sound Sam made—really all he can hear is his own heartbeat thundering in his ears—but all he hopes that Sam at least got the Sword.

The Bandersnatch crouches and roars her fury in Gabriel’s face. _Liar!_ With a single swipe of her enormous paw, she sends him flying back into the thick trunk of a Tulgey tree, then turns and leaps for the shack. Black spots dance at the edges of Gabriel’s vision and he can barely breathe, but he finds enough strength to pull himself shakily to his feet and shove his hand into his pocket.

Leaning heavily on the tree for support, Gabriel brandishes the Bandersnatch’s eye and finds enough breath in his chest to call out to her.

“I have something of yours!” 

The Bandersnatch looks over her shoulder; she does a double-take, then skids to a graceless stop just before the door of the shack and turns to face Gabriel. Her white, cloudy gaze fixed unflinchingly upon her eye, clutched tightly in Gabriel’s shaking hand.

Behind the Bandersnatch, Sam slips out of the shack, his eyes wide and terrified, and even when he stumbles and gasps the Bandersnatch doesn’t turn around. In Sam’s arms rests a long, thin bundle wrapped in filthy once-white cloth; Gabriel can only hope it is the Vorpal Sword. _I am perhaps about to die,_ Gabriel thinks as the Bandersnatch prowls toward him. _If Sam is not holding the Sword, then my death will be for nothing._

Gabriel steps away from the tree, his steps painful but sure. The Bandersnatch follows his movements intently. 

_Give it to me,_ she demands. _It is not yours._

“No,” Gabriel agrees. “And I will give it back to you if you let us go with the Sword.”

He isn’t expecting that to work, so he is unsurprised when the Bandersnatch growls. _No. I will take my eye back and kill you, and then I will hunt down your little friend and take back the Sword._

“I was afraid of that,” Gabriel says. “Run forward, Sam, and do not look back no matter what you hear! Find the tree and ask it for a favor; it will open for you.”

“Gabriel,” Sam says pleadingly. 

“Tell Dean I’m sorry, and Castiel as well.” Gabriel cannot look Sam in the eye. He focuses instead on the Bandersnatch.

“Gabriel, please!” Sam shouts. 

Gabriel turns and runs, and the Bandersnatch gives chase, roaring furiously. Gabriel’s ribs ache fiercely with every step he takes and he cannot run very fast, but the Bandersnatch is clumsy in the woods, and always has been. She trips over her feet in her haste, and tumbles headfirst into trees, but still her stride devours the distance between them, and it is only a matter of minutes before Gabriel feels agony scored across his side.

With a yelp he is thrown sideways and hits the ground hard. He gasps desperately, like his chest has caved in, and his focus narrows to the place on his right side where the Bandersnatch’s claws have rent his skin. Appallingly, his only thought is, _Now I will have a matching set of scars._

The eye is still clutched tightly in his hand. Gabriel is careful not to crush it, even as he pulls himself painfully to a sitting position. The Bandersnatch looks upon him with something like pity and something like regret in her one-eyed gaze, and her deliberate prowl is now nothing more than a slow pacing. Probably he makes a very sad picture: slumped back against a tree, gasping in pain, bleeding all over the forest floor.

_Why have you done this, Guardian of the Tulgey Wood?_ The Bandersnatch sits, dredging up a patience Gabriel didn’t know she had. _Why steal from me? Why help the people who’ve shunned you?_

Gabriel laughs, and coughs. His side stings like a burn every time he breathes, but the slashes don’t appear to be very deep, so he isn’t too concerned about them at the moment. Really the biggest threat now is infection, but that’s the least of his worries. 

“I’m not so altruistic as all that,” Gabriel says. “I am doing this because I want to go home, and because I want Castiel and Dean and Sam to come with me. Let me ask you a question in return, and then I shall give you your eye back.”

She huffs. _Very well. I can hardly deny you your last request._

Nervously, Gabriel swallows. “Why do you serve the Red Queen? She does not care about you, and she never has. All she wants is someone to watch over the Vorpal Sword and prevent anyone from taking it.”

The Bandersnatch growls. _I keep the Sword safe from those who would misuse it._

“You keep it locked up for the sake of a tyrant,” Gabriel retorts. “Her rule is illegitimate, and she knows that the only way to keep herself in power is to keep the Vorpal Sword out of the picture.”

The Bandersnatch rumbles uneasily, shuffling her enormous paws. _She told me that I was protecting the fate of Underland._

“She lied.” Gabriel pulls himself to his feet and leans against the tree, one arm wrapped around himself. He’s filthy, covered in dirt and leaves from his fall, sweating from pain and exertion, and he can barely stand, but still he thinks he is gaining the upper hand here. “She’s sullied your name and turned you into a monster of legend—the murderous Bandersnatch, the Red Queen’s beast, the horrible guardian of the Vorpal Sword.”

_No!_

“Yes! Why do you think so many people have come trying to kill you? Why do you think we did not stop coming, no matter how many of us you killed? We are fighting for our freedom, and you have been standing in the way.”

_No!_ The Bandersnatch snarls and swipes viciously at the ground, sending huge chunks of dirt and grass flying off into the trees. _I did not agree to this. I am an Underlander, too!_ She looks at Gabriel, still growling, and walks a little closer so that she looms over him. _You were the only one I let go, and only then because you were the youngest of those who came seeking the Sword. Why did you come back?_

“To return your eye,” he says, holding it out to her. Almost reverently, she takes it from him and lifts her paw to her face, fumbling a little as she puts her eye back in. “And also to ask you something. Something important.”

Her expression—if she can be said to have expressions, being that her face is always set in a snarl—is soft when she looks at Gabriel. _I’m listening._

Sam bursts screaming into the clearing, brandishing the Vorpal Sword in his clumsy grasp. His eyes widen when he sees Gabriel, and he points the tip of the sword at the Bandersnatch, who narrows her eyes and turns to assess him.

“Release him,” Sam demands.

“Sam, wait!” Gabriel says, but his voice is drowned out by the Bandersnatch’s furious roar. She charges at him. Panicked, Gabriel draws on every last bit of strength he possesses, and he disappears. When he becomes visible again, he is directly in the Bandersnatch’s path, and he is too disoriented to do more than yelp and push Sam behind him.

Luckily, the Bandersnatch trips over her feet and stumbles to a stop just in front of him. Sam shakily raises the Sword, but Gabriel gently pushes it down.

“Don’t,” he says. “She’s not our enemy.”

“She had you backed against a tree,” Sam says, voice trembling and eyes wide. “You’re bleeding!”

“She did not have me backed against a tree,” Gabriel says indignantly. As the Bandersnatch picks herself up, shaking her head to clear it, Gabriel shifts so that his back is to her and he faces Sam. “I am the Guardian of the Tulgey Wood, remember. I am never safer than when I’m near the trees.”

His legs choose that moment to give out.

“Gabriel!” Sam yelps. He drops the Sword carelessly to the ground and kneels at Gabriel’s side, his hands hovering hesitantly above Gabriel’s chest. His wounds are still bleeding sluggishly, and they pulse with pain in time with his heartbeat, but miraculously they don’t seem to be life-threatening. He’s trembling, though, and it takes entirely too much effort to sit up. “She’s injured you.” Sam glares at the Bandersnatch, who whines mournfully deep in her throat.

_I did not know about the Red Queen._

“I know you didn’t,” Gabriel tells her. To Sam: “A cornered animal will always attack. The big-head has been lying to her this whole time. She did not know for what purpose the Red Queen had her guarding the Sword. I am sure she regrets all the lives she’s taken.”

She nods. Sam’s expression softens, but not by much.

“That is terrible,” he says, “but you are still bleeding very much.”

“Not that much,” Gabriel says. Sam takes off his jacket and presses it to Gabriel’s chest to stem the bleeding. Gabriel hisses in pain.

_I can help._ The Bandersnatch lies down with her head on her paws, looking very much like a scolded puppy. _If you let me, I will help with your wounds._

Gabriel blinks in surprise. “I am not sure what you could do,” he says, “but you’re more than welcome to try.” In truth he’s in much more pain than he lets on, and as the adrenaline fades he becomes increasingly aware that he’s exhausted. “Move your jacket, please, and don’t lose your head.”

“What is she doing?” Sam asks. He shuffles away, and the Bandersnatch shuffles closer.

“I’m not sure,” Gabriel admits.

The Bandersnatch rumbles. _Hold still._ Her tongue is heavy and wet and disgusting as she swipes it over his chest and side, and the pressure of it makes Gabriel yelp in pain. But as soon as it started, it’s over, and immediately the pain begins to lessen. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Sam offers him the bloody jacket so he can wipe away the worst of the saliva.

“Hello,” Gabriel says, surprised. “I’ve stopped bleeding! Or at least, the bleeding is not nearly as heavy as it was.”

The Bandersnatch looks smug. Sam gazes at her in awe.

“That’s incredible,” he says. “No one told me the Bandersnatch can heal.”

“I do not think anyone besides us knows,” Gabriel says. He leans heavily on Sam as he pulls himself to his feet.

“Does it work on all injuries? Or only injuries that she causes?”

“I’m not sure, and I don’t think she is, either. In any case, it doesn’t matter now. Sam, the Sword.”

Sam helps him lean against a tree, then picks up the Sword and cleans its blade carefully against his shirt. With the sibilant sound of metal on metal, it slides neatly back into its sheath at Sam’s hip.

“Now, I have a proposition for you,” says Gabriel. “You have your eye, and we have the Sword, and I daresay you’ll not kill us if we try to leave.”

She dips her head in agreement.

“Come with us. Help us fight our war,” Gabriel says. Sam sucks in a sharp breath. “You’d be a great ally against the big-head, and I’m sure that after everything she’s done you want revenge.”

“Or at least to see the sun again,” says Sam softly. “We can lead you out of these woods, out of this darkness.”

Gabriel takes a chance and reaches out. He is too far away to touch her, but after a moment of hesitation she walks forward and nudges Gabriel’s hand with her head. Her fur is thick and coarse and warm, and Gabriel cannot resist the temptation to pet her.

_Alright. I will come, and I will help you defeat the Red Queen._

Gabriel grins, and Sam, correctly guessing the Bandersnatch’s answer, grins back.

“No one is going to believe this,” he says.

“They will not have a choice but to believe,” Gabriel responds. “Now let’s get out of here. This part of the wood is not a good place to linger too long.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asks, frowning. “You can barely stand, let alone walk all the way back. Wouldn’t you rather rest first?”

“We don’t have the time,” Gabriel insists. “The big-head knows we are planning to oppose her, and there’s no telling when she or her people will come here to check on the Sword. If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

Sam pales. “Alright,” he says. “But don’t push yourself too hard. If you need to rest, then say something.”

_Perhaps I can be of some assistance._ The Bandersnatch lies flat on her belly and looks at them meaningfully.

“Does she mean for us to ride her?” Sam says.

“I suppose so,” Gabriel replies. “Well, who are we to turn down this once in a lifetime opportunity? As long as you go slowly,” he adds, looking at the Bandersnatch sternly. “You know as well as I that you cannot run very fast in the forest.”

She grumbles, but agrees, and carefully Sam clambers onto her back. He reaches a hand down to pull Gabriel up in front of him. When they are settled, the Bandersnatch stands up slowly, obviously trying not to startle her passengers too badly. Still, once she’s reached her full height and begins to walk, Sam’s arms tighten around Gabriel’s waist. Gabriel winces, for his wounds are still painful and open, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve ridden some rather large horses in my time, but none of them has been as tall as this,” says Sam. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this far from the ground.”

“Hold on tightly, then,” Gabriel says. “A fall from up here might just be enough to do you in.”

“Or you,” says Sam. “After all, you’re the injured party at the moment.”

“Yes, but I’m also the only one of us who can fly.” He doesn’t mention that he’s too tired to do much more than grip the Bandersnatch’s thick fur. When she’s not running full-tilt through the trees, her gait is smooth and gently rocking, and Gabriel relaxes on her back. He closes his eyes to rest them for a second, but when he opens them again they’re back in the Tulgey Wood—the part that is not held under the Red Queen’s curse, that is. Ahead of them is a familiar tree in the middle of a clearing.

“We need you to open your shortcut,” Sam says. He sounds apologetic, like he thinks the effort of opening the door might just kill Gabriel. In all honesty, Gabriel’s not entirely sure it won’t.

“Can you walk closer so that I can reach the tree?” Gabriel says. With a low rumble, the Bandersnatch obliges.

“Should we rest first?” Sam asks, though Gabriel knows his true question is something like _Shouldn’t you rest first before you kill yourself?_

“There’s no time for all of that,” Gabriel says. Taking a deep breath, he reaches out and places a hand on the trunk of the tree. He closes his eyes and stills his mind. This next thing he says aloud, and though he tries to be quiet, he has no doubt that Sam can hear every word. “I have not the strength to do this on my own. Please, I need your help.” He trembles and opens his eyes, and he stares at the tree as if it has a face for him to look pleadingly into.

Around them, for possibly miles, the glow of the Tulgey trees dies, leaving the trunks black with foreboding shadow. Sam gasps. The Bandersnatch shifts uneasily. Gabriel—who can no longer feel his pain or his exhaustion or his anything, really—exhales slowly. The place where he is pressing his hand to the tree bark glows violently orange. Gabriel pushes, and the glow widens and flashes to purple, then red and green and blue and back again, a glow so bright and intense that Gabriel’s eyes burn just looking upon it and he has to turn his head away.

“Gabriel!” Sam cries, but Gabriel is busy directing the stream of all the magic the Tulgey Wood is giving him, and he cannot respond. In the middle of it all, the doorway opens, taller and wider than it’s ever been, in deference to the Bandersnatch’s huge bulk. Whole minutes pass, and Gabriel pours every bit of magic he has and every bit of magic he’s borrowed into the tree, until when it pulses once he’s sure there’s nothing left inside of him except a huge, gaping emptiness.

Darkness rears like an unruly horse at the edges of his mind. He lists sideways, but warm hands catch him and hold him fast, and a high, panicked voice shouts something he cannot understand. They move, but it isn’t him who’s doing the moving, and he cannot remember, exactly, who else it could be. _A problem for another time,_ Gabriel decides, and lets unconsciousness swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter so far, and by far the most action-packed! All of those shortcuts finally caught up to Gabriel, but on the plus side now they've got the Sword and a new ally! Comments, criticism, questions? Let me know what you guys think down in the comments!


	17. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean anxiously await Sam and Gabriel's return. They are shocked by who else is with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> christ this chapter ran away from me. it's hella long (almost 8k words!) and honestly none of the events that happen in this chapter were in my outline. anyway, thanks for being so patient during the wait!

The meeting ends after a day and half the night, and Castiel, exhausted, stumbles out into Mirana’s garden. It’s just past midnight and the moon is high and bright in the sky, illuminating Castiel’s path as he picks his way carefully through the flowers and hedges. To his left, a little way in the distance, the Cherry Wood seems to glow with eerie silver light, and he cannot keep his eyes off of it. 

Sam and Gabriel disappeared into it that morning—yesterday morning?—and they’ve yet to return. At first it was all Castiel could do to distract himself from the absences of his cousin and his—of Sam. Once the White Queen began her strategy meeting, however, Castiel’s attention was entirely caught by the intricate chessboard she’d used to indicate their hypothetical battlefield. Between him and Trey it was easy enough to outline the size and strength of the Red Queen’s forces, and Dean and the Duchess proved frighteningly cunning and tactical when it came down to it.

They have a strategy now, or something like it, but still everything hinges on Gabriel and Sam returning with the Vorpal Sword.

_Or just one of them returning,_ says a little voice in the back of his mind that sounds like his own. Discomforted by his own thoughts, he shakes his head and forces himself to focus on the cobblestone path he’s found himself on. The gardens are just as much of a labyrinth as the inside of the castle is, though less literally than in the case of the Red Queen’s hedge maze. When Castiel looks around, there is only the disarray of a half-wild garden; and the castle to one side and the forest to the other; and a little ways ahead, a lone figure sitting on a white stone bench.

Dean startles when Castiel sits next to him, and he huffs a little laugh at himself.

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess I was lost in my thoughts. What are you doing out here so late? You seemed so tired after the meeting ended I would’ve thought you’d be fast asleep in bed by now.”

“I can ask and say the same of you,” Castiel replies. “And I suppose our answers will be the same, as well.”

Dean glances at him briefly, then returns to his vigil. After a moment of staring at the Cherry Wood, he says, “I cannot begin to explain how worried I am.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be able to,” Castiel says. “I am worried, too. In just a few hours, they’ll have been gone for an entire day.”

Dean fidgets uneasily. “What if they don’t come back?” he asks, his voice little more than a trembling whisper. Castiel would be lying if he said that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind as well, so for a moment he says nothing at all.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’d like to think that they’re more capable than we’re giving them credit for.”

“I suppose,” says Dean. His expression brightens. “Yes, you’re right. Gabriel is stronger than he looks, and Sam managed just fine on his own when he first came down here.” He glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “Well, almost on his own. I never did thank you, did I, for helping him?”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Castiel says. “I was glad to help. More than glad.” He smiles softly at nothing, only to startle when he notices Dean watching him with something like a smirk on his face. “And what about you? Are you glad Gabriel was with you as you travelled through Underland?”

“Immeasurably,” says Dean. “Without him I’d probably be wandering lost in the forest somewhere. He was perhaps not the most patient guide, but he cared and he was smart, and those are the most important things, I think.” He laughs softly. “He introduced me to the Hatter and the Hare, you know. We ended up getting kicked out of their tea party—or kicking ourselves out. I was furious at the time, but looking back, his shenanigans were rather hilarious.”

“He’s always been prone to playing tricks,” says Castiel. “Very rarely do they cause actual harm, and even then it is only on accident.” Castiel studies him for a moment. “You care for him very much, don’t you?”

Dean blushes. “Well,” he stammers, “it would be rather difficult of me not to after—That is, after everything we’ve been through—” He breaks off with a mild glare when he notices Castiel laughing. “Oh, alright, I do. It’s not exactly a secret—to anyone except Gabriel himself, that is.”

This makes Castiel laugh harder. “He can be rather idiotic when it suits him,” Castiel agrees.

“And what about you?” Dean says. “You seem to have gotten very close with my brother. You care for him as well?”

“Yes,” Castiel says immediately. “Very much so. How could I not? He’s—well, he’s _Sam_.”

Which is the best way Castiel can describe everything that Sam is to him, and everything Sam is outside of Castiel’s affections for him. Dean seems to agree, for he nods sagely.

“He’s Sam, indeed. You know, I’m rather protective of him; I always have been, and I suspect I always will be.”

“Ah.” Castiel hunches his shoulders. “Come to warn me off?”

“Not at all.” Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes comfortingly. “I think you’re very good for him. He’s comfortable with you, and there’s not many people I can say that to.”

Now, finally, Castiel looks down and feels his face heat up. “Oh,” he says, helpless to stop his smile. “Good. I am comfortable with him, too.”

He yawns enormously. Dean laughs, a little awkwardly. 

“Excellent timing,” he says. “This heart-to-heart was getting a little too emotional for my tastes.”

“You started it,” Castiel reminds him. He takes the hand Dean offers him and lets Dean pull him to his feet.

“We should get some sleep,” Dean says. “Tomorrow will be a busy day, whether they return with the Sword or not.”

“And if they do not return tomorrow?” Castiel says. Dean gives him a grim smile.

“Then they’ll return the next day. You were right to not doubt them, Castiel. They’re stronger than we think, and besides, I’ve never known Gabriel to break a promise yet.”

_That’s a rather new development,_ Castiel thinks, petulantly. But fairly, too, for he could fill a book with all the little promises Gabriel’s broken.

“The ones that count, at least,” Castiel says slowly. And then, because he does not want to act like an ass: “And I daresay any promise he makes to you will be one he’d fight to keep.”

Dean grins, and shoulder-to-shoulder they begin walking back to the castle. “He’d better,” he says mildly. “If he doesn’t, I’ll go in there and hunt him down myself.”

* * *

In the morning Castiel makes sure to ask the servant to guide him outside after breakfast, and he isn’t surprised when Dean joins him after a few minutes. They sit together in silence for a few moments, staring out at the Cherry Wood, both of them thinking the same thing but neither of them willing to voice it.

The sun moves a little across the sky, and the day grows just a little hotter. In the distance there is a dark smudge against the otherwise pristine whiteness of the cherry blossom trees. Castiel notices it first, and then Dean follows his gaze and sits up straighter.

“What is that?” he asks.

Castiel frowns. “I’m not sure. It’s too big to be a horse, though it’s running like one.”

“It looks more like a bear than a horse,” says Dean, and his eyes widen, and he and Castiel look at each other in horror.

“We can’t know for sure that it’s the Bandersnatch,” says Castiel.

“It’s running right toward us, and it doesn’t seem to be stopping,” Dean points out. “Do you really want to take the chance?”

He has a point, and whether it’s the Bandersnatch or not, Castiel doesn’t want to be caught twiddling his thumbs when it gets here. “We should get the Queen.”

They run. Dean leads the way through the hallways with confidence and it’s only a few minutes later that they arrive at the same study Mirana had received them in when they got here. Privately Castiel wonders if he’s the only one who has trouble navigating the labyrinthine hallways, but he puts it out of his mind. There are quite literally bigger things to worry about. 

Mirana opens the door with one hand. The other is raised to her mouth, and she is using her teeth to tighten the strap of her white leather glove. The elegant ball gowns she seems to prefer have disappeared, replaced instead with bright silver chainmail, white leather armor, and a long white tunic belted at the waist. The difference is so startling that both Dean and Castiel pause and exchange surprised looks.

“Right on time,” says Mirana with a smile. “Would one of you mind?” She holds aloft her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Castiel steps forward to tighten the clasp that cinches the glove at her wrist.

“Your Majesty, there’s something approaching the castle,” Dean says urgently. “We suspect it might be the Bandersnatch.”

“Yes, I saw,” she says, and steps aside so they can see past her. The window behind her desk overlooks the very garden Castiel and Dean were just sitting in, and beyond its borders of silver-frosted ferns, the hulking beast is loping ever closer. Castiel blanches. It’s near enough now that he can see its gaping maw.

“What shall we do?” Castiel asks. Mirana closes the study door firmly and starts down the hallway, Castiel and Dean hurrying to follow.

“We will go out to meet it, of course,” Mirana says. “I’d be a poor host if I did not greet a guest.”

“A _guest_?” Castiel gapes at her. “Your Majesty, is that not the Red Queen’s Bandersnatch? The very same beast which has killed almost every champion who has gone after the Sword?”

“The very same,” Mirana replies cheerfully.

They emerge into the bright sunshine outside of the castle’s front doors, where all of Mirana’s retinue has gathered, haphazardly dressed in a mixture of court clothing and armor similar to the Queen’s. Trey and the Duchess come running up, Trey clutching a long spear and the Duchess clutching her skirts in one hand and a short sword in the other. The Duchess’ poor pig stumbles along after her, squealing as it tries to keep up.

Mirana draws her own sword, a long two-handed broadsword that gleams in the sun. With a wink, she says to Dean and Castiel, “It is not my Vorpal Sword, but it shall get the job done.” She holds a hand up to Trey, the Duchess, and the Court, then crooks a finger at Dean and Castiel, and the two of them flank her on either side as she strides out toward the gates.

One of her soldiers—a pawn, for Mirana prefers chess as opposed to her sister’s love of card games—opens the gate after a moment’s hesitation. The pawns do not have faces, but Castiel thinks this one looks particularly terrified as they pass by. Castiel can relate.

“Consider, dear ones,” says Mirana, glancing over her shoulder at them, “that the Bandersnatch is here.”

“Trust me, Your Majesty, we have done nothing _but_ consider it,” says Dean.

Mirana laughs lightly. “You misunderstand. Think of it this way—the Bandersnatch guards the Sword under my sister’s orders. If that really is the Bandersnatch, then either Iracebeth sent it here to attack, or something has happened with the Sword.” She grins. “And where was it we sent your brother and cousin, again?”

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat, and Dean turns to him, wide-eyed and excited. The three of them come to a stop and watch as the Bandersnatch lopes closer.

“Is there someone on its back?” Castiel exclaims, squinting at the little blurry figure riding astride the Bandersnatch’s broad form.

“Well,” says Mirana lightly. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Dean scoffs, but he practically vibrates in his skin as the Bandersnatch approaches. It— _she_ , Gabriel had said the Bandersnatch is a she—slows as she approaches, and even though she doesn’t seem aggressive, Castiel is still wary. She’s enormous, after all, with long sharp claws and a gaping mouth full of needle-like teeth, and her breath is hot as she pants for breath in front of them. Mirana keeps herself between the Bandersnatch and Dean and Castiel, her sword held tightly in her hand.

“Hello,” she says cautiously.

“Your Majesty!” comes the excited reply, but not from the Bandersnatch. Dean and Castiel dart forward.

“Sam!” they say in unison, gazing up—and up and _up_ —to the Bandersnatch’s shoulders, where a familiar figure is half-hidden by the Bandersnatch’s thick fur. Sam grins tiredly down at them. He is alone, but Castiel isn’t _too_ worried. Gabriel’s always had a habit of wandering off on his own.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks.

“I’m fine, Dean,” says Sam. “Your Majesty, is there a hospital or a doctor nearby?”

Dean and Castiel exchange wide-eyed looks.

“I thought you said you were alright!” Dean says as the Bandersnatch, still panting like a dog, lies down carefully on her stomach.

“I am,” Sam says. Castiel sucks in a sharp breath.

“Oh no,” he whispers. Then he calls up to Sam, “Gabriel?”

“He’s alive,” is the careful answer. “We’re coming down, stand back.”

Despite his warning, both Dean and Castiel step forward to help as Sam slides feet-first down the Bandersnatch’s side, clutching Gabriel’s unconscious body close to him. Predictably, he stumbles and nearly falls flat on his face when he hits the ground, but Castiel catches him by the shoulders. Dean catches Gabriel’s dead weight with a grunt and carefully lowers them both down to the ground.

Castiel reaches up and gently brushes aside an errant lock of Sam’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he says softly.

“Me too,” says Sam, leaning into Castiel’s hand. A panicked noise from Dean rips them out of their moment.

“What the hell happened?” Dean exclaims. Castiel takes Sam’s hand and together they hurry to Dean’s side. Dean is cradling Gabriel to his chest with one arm; his other is hovering hesitantly above Gabriel’s side, which is drenched in tacky blood. Gabriel’s skin is clammy and pale, except for the dark circles which have formed under his eyes. His breathing is fast and shallow, and despite all of the jostling, he hasn’t so much as twitched.

“Did the Bandersnatch do this?” Castiel demands, gently moving aside Gabriel’s arm so he can get a better look at the vicious claw marks scored across his side. He looks over his shoulder at the Bandersnatch, who is still flopped on the ground, whining. To Castiel’s shock, Mirana is standing in front of the Bandersnatch, cradling her massive head in her hands.

“She did,” Mirana says in response to Castiel’s question. “But she is sorry.”

“ _Sorry_?” Dean growls, pulling Gabriel closer to himself protectively. “He looks half-dead!”

“But he’s not,” Castiel says, trying to reassure himself as much as Dean. He knew, of course, that Gabriel had been injured the first time he faced the Bandersnatch, but to see him like this, pale and quiet and still, and nothing like the lively, cheerful person he usually is—well, it’s jarring at the very least.

“Look, these wounds are not life-threatening,” he continues. “In fact, they look half-healed already!”

“That’s also the Bandersnatch’s doing,” says Sam. He, too, looks tired, his eyes half-closed and most of his weight slumped against Castiel’s shoulder. “She, um. Well, she licked him.”

Dean makes another indignant noise. “Why is she here, anyway? I thought you two were only supposed to find—the Sword.” His eyes widen. “You did find it, didn’t you?”

In response, Sam shifts so that they can see the Vorpal Sword, tied to a belt around his waist. Castiel hadn’t noticed it before, too worried about whether Sam was injured to see the too-large sword strapped to his side.

“Good,” Dean says, relieved. “We came up with a plan yesterday, Sam. Now that we have the Sword, we can defeat the Red Queen and go home.”

Sam looks surprised, but his expression smooths out after a moment. “And the Bandersnatch. Gabriel convinced her to fight for us.”

“Good,” says Mirana. “We could use all the allies we can get. Now, let’s go back and reassure my staff that we’re not being attacked, and we’ll get Gabriel to the castle infirmary, and you and I, Sam, will go return the Vorpal Sword to its proper place.”

Dean looked surprised, as though he’d forgotten that he’s sitting on the ground with Gabriel’s unconscious body in his lap. Castiel and Sam help him stand up with Gabriel draped across his back, and with the Bandersnatch following quietly behind them, they return to the castle. Everyone gapes at the Bandersnatch—except for the Duchess, who lets out a little squeak of alarm and rushes to Dean and Gabriel.

“Is he alright?” she asks anxiously.

“I don’t think his life is in danger,” says the Queen. “Duchess, would you help Dean take Gabriel to the infirmary? One of my courtiers will show you the way.”

Only one member of the court manages to shake off his gobsmacked expression and step forward.

“I’d be glad to,” he says with a little bow. “Right this way.”

Sam and Castiel watch them make their careful way inside the castle. Castiel doesn’t realize he’s frowning until Sam squeezes his hand.

“He’ll be okay,” Sam whispers. 

Castiel wants to protest; Gabriel looked _sick_ , weak in a way Castiel’s never seen him before. But Sam was in the forest with Gabriel and knows better than Castiel what happened to him, and Castiel trusts Sam—perhaps more than he trusts anyone else in Underland at the moment. If Sam says that Gabriel will be fine, then he’ll be fine.

“Trey, would you and one of my court escort the Bandersnatch to the stables?” Mirana continues. “Find her a bed, and feed and water her.”

“Your Majesty, are you sure it’s safe?” Trey asks hesitantly, clutching his spear.

“Quite safe,” Mirana says. “Sam and the Cheshire Cat wouldn’t have brought her home otherwise.”

“Then that’s good enough for me. Come along, then.” Trey rests his spear across his shoulder and grins at the Bandersnatch.

Mirana, Castiel, and Sam don’t wait to see which of the nervous courtiers goes with them. The Queen curls a finger at them, urging them to follow as she strides into the castle. Sam and Castiel hurry to keep up.

“I cannot say how grateful I am to you for returning the Vorpal Sword to me,” Mirana says as they navigate the hallways. “Its absence has been felt keenly.”

“I was glad to do it,” Sam says.

“It’s rightfully yours, then?” Castiel asks.

“It was part of my inheritance when my father passed the kingdom over to me many years ago,” Mirana says. “It was one of the first things Iracebeth stole from me when she staged her coup all those years ago. But now,” she adds, stopping before a pair of ornate double doors, “it is home!”

She throws the doors open. The room beyond is not very large, and it is just as opulently decorated and white as the rest of the rooms in the castle, but the very air seems charged with vibrant energy. The room’s sole occupant is a headless dressmaker’s dummy upon which rests a set of armor unlike any Castiel’s ever seen before. Its silver plates seem to shine on their own; the chainmail practically sings when Mirana reaches out to touch it.

“This the Armor of the Champion,” she says. “Forged long, long ago under Absolem’s supervision, it’s said that will only fit the one who is destined to slay the Jabberwock.The Vorpal Sword is the final piece.”

She holds out her hand for the Sword, and Sam hurries to unbuckle the belt wrapped around his waist. Reverently, Mirana lies the Sword flat on the cushioned pedestal standing in front of the Armor. Perhaps Castiel has been spending too much time with Gabriel lately, but he is expecting something to glow. Nothing does. He and Sam exchange looks.

“I cannot express my gratitude to you enough for returning this sword to me, Sam,” says Mirana softly. “You will forever be a friend to my people. No matter what happens when we finally face my sister, any aid I can give to you will be yours.”

“Oh,” says Sam awkwardly, clearly unsure of the etiquette involved in accepting such an honor. “It was my pleasure.”

Castiel tries not to laugh, and Sam shoots him an annoyed look. They both school their faces when Mirana turns to look at them.

“Come, I’m sure you would like to see the Cheshire Cat,” she says. “I will take you to the infirmary, but I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave of you then. There is much to be done in preparation for our final stand against Iracebeth.”

“That would be very helpful, Your Majesty, thank you,” says Castiel. Sam reaches out to take his hand, and, leaving the little white room with its heirloom armor and sword behind, they follow Mirana once more into her labyrinth of hallways.

Castiel still can’t tell any of these halls apart, but when she finally stops in front of the door at the very end of the hall they’ve found themselves in, Sam murmurs that they’re not very far from the guest rooms.

“I take it you’ll be able to find your way back to your room, then?” Mirana says. “Otherwise I can send someone to guide you there.”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty,” says Sam politely. “We know where we’re going.”

“Then this is where I leave you,” she says. “Take this opportunity to rest. Castiel can fill you in on what we discussed in our meeting yesterday. As soon as everything and everyone are ready, we’ll launch our attack.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Castiel says, giving a little bow. Sam does the same, and Mirana leaves them with a smile. Castiel reaches out for the door handle, then hesitates. His hand trembles in the air.

“Castiel,” Sam says softly. “What is it?”

“I think I’m scared,” Castiel admits. “I don’t want to see him like that again. I don’t want to think about how bad it must have been the first time.”

Sam is quiet for a moment. Castiel’s hand falls back to his side. Finally, Sam says, “He survived both times. This time, he was even successful. He’s fine, Castiel, or at least he will be.”

“I know,” Castiel says, blinking hard. His eyes sting with tears despite his best efforts. “I just feel like—” _Like this is my fault_ , he wants to say, but his throat closes up and his voice deserts him.

“Oh, Castiel,” Sam sighs, and pulls him into a tight hug. Castiel sobs, only once, into Sam’s shoulder, and he grips the back of Sam’s coat so tightly that his fingers ache, but he doesn’t cry. He swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, and he tries again.

“I feel like this is my fault.” His voice is small, but it doesn’t falter.

“Your fault?” Sam says, astonished. “How is any of this your fault?”

“I’m really not sure that it is,” Castiel says, laughing thickly. Closing his eyes, he rubs his forehead against the thick material of Sam’s lapel. “But I still feel guilty.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re talking about more than just Gabriel’s injuries?” Sam says. “I promise you that none of this is your fault.”

“I know,” Castiel says. He sighs, then pulls back and offers Sam a small smile. Sam smiles softly in return and reaches up to gently brush away Castiel’s tears. “I think I’ll feel better once Gabriel wakes up.”

“We all will,” Sam says. “Come on. It might make you feel better to see him.” He takes Castiel’s hand and gently tugs him through the door. His hand doesn’t waver on the door knob like Castiel’s did, but his grip on Castiel’s hand is tight, and Castiel realizes that Sam is possibly just as worried about Gabriel as Castiel himself is. Whatever happened between them in the Tulgey Wood, Sam exited the forest much closer to Gabriel than he was when he went in.

The infirmary is a long, sterile room lined with a double row of crisp white beds pushed against the walls. In between each bed is a window kept shut by a little silver latch, presumably to help air out the oftentimes disgusting smell of sickness that tends to gather in places like this. The room is mostly empty, both of people and of decorations, and their footsteps echo sharply as they hurry to the end of the row, where Dean is deep in discussion with a woman whom Castiel presumes is a healer.

“That’s ridiculous,” Dean is saying when they approach.

“I’m sorry, sir,” says the woman firmly, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks, looking between Dean and the woman.

“Apparently we’ll not be allowed to see Gabriel,” Dean says hotly.

“It’s standard policy for patients who’ve recently undergone surgery,” the healer replies, obviously irritated. “Until he wakes up and can decide for himself whether he wants visitors, no one will be allowed inside of the Cheshire Cat’s room.”

Castiel, however, is still caught on the first thing she said. “Surgery?” he exclaims, his voice going high with alarm. The healer looks at him in surprise.

“Minor surgery,” she explains. “He needed stitches, and we applied a poultice to the worst of his bruising, but that’s all. He’ll be fine, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“That’s not surprising,” Sam says. “He exhausted himself.” Castiel looks at him sharply, all the more curious now about what, exactly, happened in the forest.

“All the more reason why he needs to be able to rest undisturbed,” the healer says decisively.

“You can’t make an exception?” Dean asks.

“Perhaps if the Queen requested it,” the healer says, somewhat sarcastically, “but you are not Her Majesty.”

“No, but the Queen herself led us here so that we could visit him,” Sam says. “Surely that means she’d expect you to make an exception?”

The healer hesitates. “You could just be saying that,” she protests.

“We could be,” says Sam, shrugging, “or you could simply trust that we are not. Of course, you could also send someone to ask the Queen, but you’d disturb her. She’s working on our battle plan at the moment, now that we have the Vorpal Sword back. The Sword that the Cheshire Cat and I risked our lives to retrieve, I might add.”

Dean and Castiel exchange startled looks. The healer is visibly flustered, and runs a hand over the front of her uniform nervously.

“Oh, very well,” she says after a moment. “But if I get in trouble for this, I’m putting the blame firmly on you.”

“I’m willing to accept that,” says Sam seriously.

The healer sighs in exasperation. “Follow me, then.” Along the back wall of the room, a handful of doors nearly blends in with the plain white paint. If the healer hadn’t led them to the one at the far end, Castiel might never have even noticed them. “These are for people who need more peace and quiet to recover,” the healer explains, “or people who require a bit more privacy.”

Fishing a ring of long silver keys from her pocket, she opens the door and motions them through. Castiel hurries immediately to Gabriel’s bedside, barely pausing to take in the rest of the wide, sparsely decorated room. Distantly, he’s aware that the healer is still talking—to Sam, probably, because Dean has already made himself at home on Gabriel’s other side.

Dean grips one of Gabriel’s limp hands in both of his own, but Castiel can’t bring himself to. He is irrationally afraid that Gabriel’s skin will be cold if he touches him, like a corpse, even though Gabriel’s chest is rising and falling steadily underneath a thin blanket and Castiel knows that he’s alive and mostly well. The dark circles underneath Gabriel’s eyes alarm him, however, as does the pale cast of Gabriel’s skin. His mouth is not smiling; it’s this that finally brings tears to Castiel’s eyes, though he refuses to let them fall.

The healer leaves with one last warning not to disturb Gabriel’s rest, and Sam crosses the room to lean against Castiel’s side as Castiel sinks into a sturdy chair.

“He’ll be fine,” Sam says confidently.

Castiel swallows thickly, but it is Dean who asks, “How do you know?”

“He seems like a stubborn bastard,” Sam says, which startles a snort out of Castiel and a laugh from Dean. “I saw the wounds after the Bandersnatch healed him. They weren’t bad, and the healer said he’d make a full recovery. Honestly, I think the only reason he hasn’t woken up yet is because he’s exhausted.”

“Exhausted?” Castiel says.

“The doorways,” Dean sighs. “His shortcuts. They tire him, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

“He _has_ been making quite a lot of them,” Sam points out. “When we were returning here, after finding the Sword and the Bandersnatch, he could barely open a shortcut.”

Dean and Castiel exchange worried looks.

“This is going to be a problem,” Castiel says.

“A big problem,” Dean agrees.

Sam looks between them, frowning. “What’s the matter?”

“Our plan of attack relies on Gabriel,” Dean says. “After all, the Red Queen is an entire ocean away, and Mirana does not have a navy. Without Gabriel to open a shortcut for us, we’re stuck here until he recovers.” 

“The problem is,” Castiel says, “that we’ve planned our attack for the day after tomorrow.” Sam pales.

“There has to be another way,” Dean says.

“Well, yes,” Sam says slowly. “I’m sure the Queen has a backup plan. After all, she couldn’t be certain that Gabriel would make it back here, so she must have another way to get her army across the sea.”

“We should ask her, just to be sure,” Castiel says, already half out of his seat. “Are you coming with me?”

“Yes,” Sam says immediately. “Dean?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Dean says, giving them a brief, apologetic smile. “If it’s all the same to you.”

Sam and Castiel exchange looks.

“Alright,” Sam says. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder comfortingly, then follows Castiel out of the room. Their footsteps echo loudly in the empty infirmary, and neither of them speaks until they emerge into the hallway, where their voices feel less obtrusive. “What is this battle plan you all have come up with, anyway?” Sam asks as they walk.

“It’ll probably be easier to show you,” Castiel says. “Unless someone’s cleared off the chessboard, everything should still be the way we left it.”

“Chessboard?” 

“You’ll see.” Castiel looks around. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get back to the room of the war council, would you? I’m afraid I have no idea where we are.”

Laughing, Sam takes Castiel’s hand and tugs him further down the hallway. “I’ve noticed you seem to have trouble finding your way around in here, but you never had the same trouble in the woods.”

“That’s because the trees in the woods are all unique,” Castiel grumbles. “Here, every hallway looks the same.”

“Luckily for you, I was raised in halls like these, and I could find my way around them even while blindfolded.”

Castiel looks at Sam out of the corner of his eye, curious. This is the first time Sam’s spoken of what his home is like. “Your house looks like this, then?”

“Not nearly so large or opulent, and there’s considerably more color,” Sam says, “but yes, my house looks something like this.”

“Is your family rich?” Belatedly, he realizes that this might come across as rude. “Ah, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Not at all,” Sam says. They turn down another hallway and nod polite greetings to the single servant they pass. “I don’t think I’d call us rich, per se. Maybe comfortable is a good word for it. My father owns a small company along with a friend of his. I can’t remember the name right now. Mr. Noray, or something like that.”

Castiel frowns. The name sounds familiar, but distantly. Perhaps he knew someone with the name Noray when he lived in Upperworld. “And what does your mother do?” he asks politely.

“She does not work, if that’s what you mean,” Sam says. “But she has many hobbies. Ah, here we are.” He pushes open a set of tall double doors and holds one for Castiel, who smiles sweetly at him as he passes. The room of the war council looks much the same as it did when Castiel was here last, down to the life sized chessboard on the floor and Absolem hovering above the Oraculum on the table. “She enjoys painting and—” Sam falters. “And gardening.”

Castiel frowns at him. He would ask what the matter is, but they’ve just reached the table where Absolem is working, and it would be rude not to say hello at least. 

“Good morning,” he says.

Absolem draws deeply from their hookah before answering, and their voice comes out tinted by bright purple smoke. “Good morning. How is the Cheshire Cat? I heard he returned in rather rough shape.”

Castiel looks at Sam, but Sam is looking distractedly down at the floor and doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the conversation.

“He’s alright,” Castiel says after a moment. “He hasn’t woken up yet, but they’re sure he’ll make a full recovery.”

“That’s good to hear,” says Absolem.

“Yes,” says Castiel. There is an awkward moment during which they both wait for Sam to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Absolem says eventually. “I’m sure you did not come here to speak to me.”

“We came to go over the plan,” Castiel says.

“Actually,” says Sam, “I have something to ask you first.”

“What is it? Is it about your mother? You seemed out of sorts when speaking about her.”

“Not exactly,” Sam says slowly. “Castiel, do you remember the first time we saw each other?

“At the Dodo’s stupid caucus race?”

“No.” Sam looks concerned, and Castiel feels the first stirrings of alarm. “I mean in my mother’s garden. That’s the first place we ever saw each other, though we didn’t officially meet until later.”

“That can’t be right,” Castiel says, eyes wide. “Your mother’s garden would be in Upperland, yes? I’ve been here in Underland for decades!”

“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense,” Sam says. “I’m quite positive I first saw you as you were passing through the garden behind my house. The only reason I came to Underland at all was because I was following you.”

Frowning, Castiel says, “It _can’t_ have been me! I only remember meeting you on the shore, near the Dodo’s race.”

Sam gestures helplessly. “That doesn’t make any sense. You _recognized_ me on the shore! You asked me if I was the boy from the garden.”

“Sam, if I knew a way to get back to Upperland, I wouldn’t still be here,” Castiel insists. “I don’t remember any garden, I swear!”

Absolem flutters over and clears their throat politely. “If I might interrupt,” they say, hovering unsteadily in the air between Sam and Castiel. “I couldn’t help but overhear your predicitament, and I know a way for you to find out for sure what happened.”

“What way is that?” Sam asks.

“The Oraculum,” Castiel realizes.

“Yes,” says Absolem. “I haven’t looked at the part of the scroll which details your arrival, Sam, but it may hold answers.”

“Please, that would be wonderful,” Sam sighs. “This is going to bother me if we don’t figure it out.”

Absolem leads them to the table and unrolls the Oraculum. As both ends roll off the table and begin spreading across the floor, Absolem studies the scroll, muttering. After a moment, they say, “Come here and look at this.”

Castiel and Sam exchange looks, but they climb up onto the table after only a moment of hesitation. They join Absolem and lean in close to study the scroll.

“Oh, look,” says Sam, pointing. “That’s me in the sea.”

Castiel looks. Upon the aged paper of the scroll, the little drawing of Sam is indeed treading water, bobbing slowly in the waves of the ocean. “What were you doing in the middle of the sea?” Castiel asks, looking askance at Sam, who blushes.

“I fell in,” says Sam. “And anyway, I was only following _you_.”

“But I’m nowhere near you,” Castiel points out. He scans the scroll, and then gestures a little further to the right. “Look, I don’t show up until the caucus race.” Indeed, the little drawing of himself is shaking hands with another little drawing of Sam on the shore.

“How is that possible?” Sam says, brow furrowed. “I swear I saw you in my mother’s garden.”

“Absolem, what do you think?” Castiel asks. Absolem is quiet for a moment, puffing intensely on their hookah. After a few moments they’re surrounded by a little cloud of green smoke, and only then do they clear their throat and speak.

“I think,” they say slowly, “that Underland works in mysterious ways, and not even I understand all of them. In this case, perhaps Underland was acting in its own interests. It might’ve recognized you as capable of fulfilling the prophecy.”

Sam’s mouth drops open. Castiel can’t blame him. The implications of what Absolem said—assuming they’re correct, though Castiel doesn’t see any reason to doubt them—are alarming to think about.

“I don’t really like the idea that this place can think for itself,” says Sam. 

“Neither do I,” says Absolem, puffing solemnly. “Still, there’s nothing to be done about it now. It’s likely that Castiel was not in Upperland, Sam, but that it was merely a ploy by the magic of Underland to lure you here.”

Sam pales a bit, and Castiel reaches out to give his hand a comforting squeeze. He’s no stranger to how ominous Underland can be—neither of them are, at this point—but this is, perhaps, the most unsettling thing he’s come across in all his time here.

“So it was a hallucination?” Sam asks. “I was seeing things that weren’t really there?”

“You saw what you saw,” Absolem says. “The question of what was there and what was not is irrelevant. You met your black rabbit. You’re here now. What more is there to worry over?”

Sam takes a deep breath. “You’re right,” he says. “There’s no use thinking about it now. Besides, that doesn’t make me mad, does it?”

_No more mad than anyone else here_ , is what Castiel wants to say. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “No. You’re not mad at all.”

Sam smiles gratefully. “Something to think about,” he says. “But later. For now, why don’t you show me this plan you’ve come up with, and then we’ll go find the Queen?”

“Right,” Castiel says, tugging Sam over to the chessboard. “Look. The white queen represents Mirana, and the white king will be the Jabberwock-Slayer.”

Sam nods seriously, his eyes tracking across the board. The plan isn’t really very complicated, but Sam asks many questions, some of which Absolem has to address because Castiel can’t remember the answers. By the time Castiel finishes explaining, Sam is nodding along with what he’s saying.

“So the problem is that without Gabriel, we have no way to get Mirana’s army from here to the Red Queen’s kingdom,” Sam says. “But Castiel, I’m not sure he could do that even if he weren’t injured and exhausted. Even simply opening doorways for the four of us seemed tiring for him.”

Castiel winces. “Perhaps we’ve been relying too heavily on him for transportation,” he concedes. “In any case, we’ll need another way to move the army. Let’s go find the Queen.”

“Good day, Absolem,” Sam says as they head for the door. “Thank you for answering our questions.”

“Thank you for asking good questions,” Absolem replies. “You are much nicer to converse with than your brother. He has a temper.”

Sam bites his lip, but he can’t quite keep the smile from his face.

“I’m not sure where the Queen would be,” Castiel says, reaching for the door handle. “So it would probably be best ask—Oh! Your Majesty!” Castiel is glad she’s changed back into one of her gowns. Running into her armor would have hurt.

Mirana raises an eyebrow at him, smiling, and apparently unconcerned with the fact that he almost knocked her over. His face grows hot with embarrassment.

“Hello, Castiel, Sam,” she says. “I was told I might find you here.”

“What a coincidence,” Sam says. “We were looking for you, too.”

“Is it about the Cheshire Cat?” she asks. “Because that’s what I’d like to discuss with you—especially you, Castiel.”

Castiel startles. “Me? I don’t have Gabriel’s abilities. I cannot open doorways the way he can.”

“Your Majesty, we’re pretty sure Gabriel won’t be able to open a shortcut for the army,” Sam says. 

“Yes, I’m aware,” says Mirana. “Luckily, I anticipated this and have been making preparations. Come, sit with me.”

She, Sam, and Castiel sit at the war table. Absolem, puffing contentedly away at their hookah, seems oblivious both to the Queen and to the fact that they’re scenting the air faintly with rose and incense smoke.

“I am quite an accomplished chemist,” Mirana says, holding aloft a little glass vial. “My specialty is potions. This is one that Gabriel and I developed long ago, in case I ever had need to get to the Tulgey Wood without him. It allows the user to open shortcuts the same way that Gabriel does.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “I wasn’t aware that was even possible. Even Gabriel only has that ability because of what he is.”

“That’s why I could never have developed this without his help.” Mirana gently tilts the vial so the pale pink liquid inside sloshes against the glass. “It’s powerful magic. Blood magic.”

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath. “He _agreed_ to that?”

“He did,” Mirana says solemnly.

“I assume blood magic is something bad,” Sam says, looking between Mirana and Castiel curiously.

“Not necessarily,” Mirana says. “It’s just very powerful.”

“And it can be dangerous,” Castiel adds. “If someone has your blood, they have the means to cast all kinds of magic on you. It’s a very vulnerable position to put yourself in. Honestly, Your Majesty, I’m having trouble believing Gabriel would consent to have his blood drawn.”

“It was just before he went off looking for the Vorpal Sword for the first time,” Mirana says. “We developed the potion in case he couldn’t get back on his own and I had to send someone to get him.”

Sam and Castiel exchange wide-eyed looks.

“But what about now?” Sam asks. “That little vial isn’t going to be enough for the entire army, is it?”

“Not even close,” Mirana says. “Luckily, the potion doesn’t require much blood. If I make a few large batches, I won’t need more than two or three vials of it to make enough potion for everyone.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Castiel points out. “We cannot ask him.”

“I know.” For the first time, Mirana shows signs of discomfort. She swallows thickly and gives Castiel an apologetic look. “That’s why I’m asking for _your_ permission in his stead.”

“What!” Castiel exclaims. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

“Your Majesty, I can’t agree to that on his behalf,” Castiel says. “It wouldn’t be right. I’m not sure he’d agree to it even if he could answer for himself, so how can you expect me to agree for him?”

“I understand your dilemma,” Mirana says. “But Castiel, we have no other choice. You’re his cousin; if anyone here has the most right to make this decision for him, it is you.”

“Your Majesty,” Sam says, frowning. “If it’s really that dangerous, then this isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”

“And I do not ask him to make it lightly,” Mirana says. “I’ve spoken with the Duchess, and she agrees with me. Reluctantly, to be sure, but in the end she agreed. Castiel, we have no other choice. If we want this plan to work, we must be able to move the army to the Tulgey Wood quickly.”

Castiel’s hands clench into fists, and he resists the urge to bounce his leg. “I wish I did not have to make this decision,” he says miserably, mostly because he knows there really isn’t a choice. If he doesn’t agree, then the plan would fail and all of this— _everything_ —would be for naught. Though, in that case, Castiel isn’t sure Mirana wouldn’t just take Gabriel’s blood regardless of what he said.

“I wish I did not have to ask you,” Mirana replies. “But such is the nature of this situation. In chess you must be willing to sacrifice your pieces, perhaps especially your more powerful ones.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow in anger, and Sam’s mouth thins.

“Gabriel isn’t a chess piece,” Sam says sternly. “He’s a person.”

“I did not mean to imply that he’s not,” Mirana says. “But surely you understand my point. I would not ask this of you if there were any other way.”

She looks at Castiel imploringly, the closest she will come to begging. As furious as he is on Gabriel’s behalf, Castiel cannot deny that there really isn’t any other choice. They all know what his answer will be. At this point, he is only delaying the inevitable. With this in mind, he finally sighs and nods.

“Alright,” he says. “You may draw his blood. But you must swear to me that you’ll only use it for the potion, and that you will not allow anyone to use it to hurt him.”

“I swear,” Mirana says immediately. “Thank you, Castiel. You won’t regret this.”

Castiel’s not sure that he won’t. He just hopes Gabriel forgives him when he finally wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter and an epilogue to go! Let me know what you guys think in the comments, I love seeing your reactions and feedback!


	18. Battle, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel wakes, and the boys prepare for battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super late update but this chapter just did not want to get written. Originally "Battle" was supposed to be one chapter, but it got so long I had to cut it in half, so expect one more chapter and then an epilogue before this fic is done. Enjoy!

Waking is not kind to Gabriel, but things have not been kind to Gabriel for a long time, so he is unsurprised by the pain he feels when he opens his eyes. Mostly it’s in his head, which throbs in time with his heartbeat. His eyes sting, and his body feels weighed down and weak. Opening his eyes takes entirely too much effort; turning his head to the side takes even more. 

He blinks a few times, frowning slightly as he tries to remember where he is and why. The room is white, and that, at least, is familiar. He’s probably in Mirana’s castle, which means he’s safe, but this isn’t the bedroom she usually gives him when he visits her. In fact, this doesn’t appear to be a bedroom at all. There are clues to be found here, but Gabriel cannot think clearly enough to grasp at them. He focuses instead on sitting up in bed and holding back a groan of pain, and then on drawing back the covers to take stock of his body.

His skin is a mottled map of bruises. Some of them are already beginning to heal, going sickly green at the edges, but some of them are so dark purple that Gabriel supposes even his own enhanced healing cannot keep up. In some places, like his knees, knuckles, and elbows, the skin is scraped pink and raw and has begun to scab over. And, of course, there’s whatever happened to his torso. Most of his chest is swathed in stark white bandages. He can feel the dulled edges of pain as he moves.

With a hiss, he pulls himself to his feet. He slips a hand into his pocket to feel for the Bandersnatch’s eye, a habit he hasn’t broken even after all these years—except the eye is not there.

Gabriel remembers.

He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. No wonder he feels so poorly; the Bandersnatch hadn’t been gentle with him in the woods. She’d been contrite, however, and Gabriel harbors no ill will toward her, so hopefully Sam vouched for her when they got back and Mirana received her well. But Gabriel doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been since they returned, or whether the others came up with a plan, or where anyone is, for that matter. He knows that there are more important things going on than him, but surely _someone_ should be here. They wouldn’t just abandon him in the infirmary, would they?

Anxious now, tail lashing behind him, he hurries—as much as he can with the pain—out of the room and then out of the infirmary. The hallways are, as ever, empty, so Gabriel takes a chance and begins walking toward the meeting room where he’d seen everyone last. It is slower than flying, but he’s not sure he has the strength to keep himself in the air at the moment, and anyway he likes the sound of his own soft footsteps echoing down the halls. It makes him feel less alone.

The meeting room is empty. There’s evidence that it was occupied recently: half-empty cups of tea on the table, maps scattered across the floor, and, taking up most of the empty space on the floor, the giant chessboard that Mirana likes to use to plan strategies. But there’s no one here, and Gabriel frowns, irritated. He needs to find someone—preferably before he collapses, which he can feel creeping up on him like moss over river stones. He’s desperately thirsty and frighteningly lightheaded, and he thinks that if he doesn’t sit down soon his body is going to force him to stop searching on its own.

_Just a little longer,_ he tells himself, leaving the meeting room behind. _Just until I find someone._

He goes to Mirana’s study next and knocks on the door, and his jaw clenches when no one answers. The door is locked, but that’s never stopped him before. He disappears, and reappears in the middle of the study. It’s empty, and all he succeeds in doing is causing his vision to go spotty and dark. He leans against the desk and breathes quick, shallow little breaths until it passes. When he can stand straight without feeling dizzy, he looks outside.

“Perhaps her garden,” he murmurs, glancing at the clock ticking away on her desk. It’s earlier in the morning than he’d normally be awake, but Mirana’s always been a morning person, and unless something happened to keep them in bed, he thinks Sam, Dean, and Castiel should be up and about as well. He doesn’t use his magic again, but opens the door from the inside and walks out, like a normal person.

In the garden, Gabriel walks slowly among the flowers, then slightly faster when he sees a familiar figure standing in the distance. Mirana smiles when he approaches her, but her gaze remains trained on the Cherry Wood in the distance.

“It’s good to see you awake, Cheshire Cat,” she says.

“I can’t say it’s good to be awake,” Gabriel replies, for his head still hurts and he feels, if possible, even weaker now. His legs tremble underneath him, with relief and exhaustion. Never one for propriety—especially not with Mirana—he sits down in the grass, ignoring the dampness of the dew that begins to seep through the fabric of his pants. After a moment of hesitation, Mirana settles down next to him, smoothing out the skirt of her gown.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, looking at him. Her gaze roves over him critically, lingering on the bandages wrapped around his chest and the exhausted lines of his face. “You look tired.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Gabriel says dryly, then shakes his head. “I _feel_ tired. I need food and more rest, but first I’d like to know what’s going on.”

Mirana frowns slightly. “What’s going on?” she repeats, sounding confused

“With the battle plan!” Gabriel says exasperatedly. “How long have I been asleep? What’s happened with the Bandersnatch? Without me you could not move your army, so the invasion must not have happened yet, but what have you decided on that front? And for the love of God, where _is_ everyone?”

Mirana’s gaze slides past him. “Well, at least one of your questions is about to be answered.”

Before he can ask her what she means, and before he can react to the sound of pounding footsteps behind him, Gabriel is tackled to the ground. Mirana laughs.

“Gabriel! You’re awake!” Sam shouts. Gabriel is too busy wheezing for breath to reply. As glad as he is to see Sam, he’s infinitely gladder when Dean and Castiel come running up to haul him off.

“Let him breathe, Samuel!” Dean scolds, pulling Sam back. “He was injured!” 

“Sorry,” Sam says as Castiel tugs Gabriel to his feet. He beams and clasps his hands in front of his face. “It’s just so good to see you!”

Wincing, one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs, Gabriel finds it in himself to laugh. “It’s good to see you, too.” He grins at Castiel, who still hasn’t let go of his hand. “You trusted me to return, and I have, haven’t I?”

Castiel’s lip wobbles. “I knew you would,” he says. “By now I’ve learned not to doubt you.”

Touched, Gabriel can do no more than squeeze Castiel’s hand to show his appreciation. Then he turns to Dean, who is helping Mirana to her feet. Dean looks almost as tired as Gabriel feels. His eyes are rimmed with shadows and exhaustion, and his hair and clothing are dishevelled, like he slept in what he’s wearing now. Dean’s gaze rakes over Gabriel in turn, and his eyes are bright and relieved when their gazes finally lock.

Mirana clears her throat delicately. “Sam, Castiel, why don’t we go check on the Bandersnatch? She’s probably eager for a run by now.”

Sam and Castiel grin at each other and follow behind Mirana as she weaves her way through the garden.

“What was that about?” Gabriel asks, watching them go. Dean laughs, wetly, and Gabriel turns back to him in alarm. “Dean? Are you alright?”

Dean makes a frustrated noise and tries, ineffectually, to rub the tears from his eyes. “I should be asking you that,” he says.

“Oh, but I am alright, dear,” Gabriel says, reaching out to him. Dean catches his hands in the air and they come together like the sea rushing to shore. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not even flying,” Dean says, crying in earnest now. “You were so still when Sam brought you back, and there was so much blood!”

“I’ve survived worse,” Gabriel says, which only makes Dean cry harder. Gabriel’s eyes sting with the beginnings of tears. He is not normally a sympathy crier, but there’s something about Dean’s pain that makes Gabriel’s heart twist in his chest. He wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and holds him tightly. “I’m tired,” he says gently, as Dean clutches him back. “And a little sore. But I’m alright.”

“Castiel couldn’t even touch you while you were in the infirmary,” Dean cries. “He was afraid you’d feel dead.”

Gabriel’s breath catches. He almost _had_ died, again. Nausea rises in the back of Gabriel’s throat. Stubbornly, he swallows it down and pulls back just enough to wipe the tears from Dean’s cheeks.

“You have such pretty green eyes,” Gabriel murmurs. “Don’t redden them with tears and sadness. Castiel has always been a little dramatic, and it seems you’ve picked up the habit. Don’t fret, my dear. I promise I’m fine. Nothing a little food and rest won’t cure.”

“If you’re sure,” Dean says, wiping the last of his tears away. His eyelashes stick together in dark, wet clumps, and his cheeks and nose are tinged faintly pink, and Gabriel’s chest constricts with the force of his affection.

“Ridiculous boy,” he says, drawing Dean into another hug. “Of course I’m sure. Now let’s go see about breakfast.”

“It’s almost noon,” Dean says, allowing Gabriel to take his hand and tug him back toward the castle. “Don’t you mean lunch?”

“I just woke up, and this is going to be my first meal,” Gabriel says reasonably, “so it’s breakfast.”

Dean laughs. “If you say so.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they walk through the garden, and Gabriel closes his eyes and tips his head back so the sunlight falls warm and vivid on his face. He doesn’t miss the fact that Dean slows his pace in deference to Gabriel’s exhaustion, but for once it doesn’t make him feel weak to accept someone’s help. Dean cares about him, has shed tears over him, and even though Mirana’s garden is beautiful, when Gabriel opens his eyes, it’s on him that Dean’s gaze is set.

By the time they reach the castle, Gabriel’s skin has gone clammy and his vision is spotting at the edges. Dean’s voice sounds like it is travelling down a long tunnel when he says, “Breakfast can wait. Which way is your room? You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Gabriel is only vaguely aware of guiding Dean toward his room, and he is only vaguely aware of Dean helping him gently into bed and pulling the thick comforters up to his chin. He jolts to awareness, however, when Dean turns toward the door.

“Don’t go,” Gabriel says, his voice small. His grip is weak around Dean’s wrist, but Dean jerks like he’s run into a brick wall when Gabriel grabs him. He carefully pries Gabriel’s hand off. His thumb rubs a soothing caress against the bone of Gabriel’s wrist.

“I’m not going to leave you,” he says. “Just give me a moment.” 

Gabriel sits up as much as he is able and watches anxiously as Dean crosses the large room. He only relaxes when Dean closes the door and then returns, settling into the armchair at the side of the bed.

“You look tired,” Gabriel says. He’s having trouble staying awake now that most of his more urgent problems have been resolved—he’s found his cousin and the Winchesters, the Bandersnatch is alright, and the attack hasn’t been called off, as far as he knows—but the thought of Dean sitting tired and uncomfortable in an armchair is like a thorn in his side, preventing him from truly relaxing.

“That is the pot calling the kettle black,” says Dean.

“You didn’t deny it.” Gabriel pulls back the covers a little. “Come join me. The bed is plenty big enough for the both of us.”

Dean flushes and shifts in his seat.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he says.

“It would bother me more to know that you’re sleeping on a chair when there is a perfectly good bed right here.” Dean hesitates, and Gabriel sighs and changes his tactic. “Please, Dean. I’d sleep better knowing you were here.”

Finally, Dean nods, but his eyes are troubled. “Alright,” he says. He peels his coat off and drapes it carefully over the back of the chair, then kneels to untie each of his shoes in turn and tuck them neatly under the bed.

“You’re stalling,” Gabriel murmurs. His eyes are little more than slits now, and his mind is slow with the foggy beginnings of sleep.

“I am not.” But Dean idles next to the bed for a moment before climbing under the covers. They both turn onto their sides, facing each other, and, finally, Gabriel lets his eyes slide all the way shut and gives in to unconsciousness. “Gabriel, there is something important I need to tell you,” Dean says.

“Mmm,” Gabriel responds, and sleeps.

* * *

Gabriel opens his eyes to the fuzzy darkness of evening, his stomach twisting in upon itself with hunger. He’s warm—almost uncomfortably so, with the comforter draped across his hips and Dean draped over his chest, and his skin is slightly tacky with sweat where they’re pressed together. Thankfully, his headache seems to have passed, but he’s still starving and by now his mouth is dry from thirst, and he itches with the restless need to get up and eat, drink, bathe.

He sighs and wiggles a little, carefully so as not to wake Dean up, but in the next second he jolts, his heart racing, as he registers the sound of voices in the room.

“It’s alright,” Dean says quietly. “It’s just us.” His earlier shyness is gone, replaced by an easy comfort that likely has something to do with Sam curled up asleep against his back and Castiel slouched in the armchair next to the bed.

“I’m sorry we woke you,” Castiel says, his voice just as low as Dean’s. “You can go back to sleep.”

Gabriel clears his throat, wincing. He’s in desperate need of a glass of water. “No,” he says. “I’m done sleeping for now. I have more pressing needs.”

“Oh, yes,” Dean says, jerking up a little. He winces guiltily when Sam makes a disgruntled noise at being disturbed. “You were hungry before.”

“And I’m famished now,” says Gabriel. “But really I’d like a bath first.”

“You do still smell like Bandersnatch saliva,” says Sam, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Well, if it bothers you that much, you didn’t have to fall asleep in bed with me,” Gabriel says with a grin. Now that everyone’s awake, he doesn’t bother moving carefully as he wiggles out of Dean’s hold. His boots are by the bed, next to Dean’s and Sam’s shoes, and he slips them on and is halfway across the room before any of them react.

“Should you be wandering off by yourself so soon after being injured?” Castiel asks, eyes narrowed. Between his hair and his dark coat, he’s little more than a midnight-colored smudge in the blue light of evening, but Gabriel can clearly imagine the disapproving expression he’s probably wearing.

“I’m fine,” Gabriel says, only slightly exasperated. “I’ve been sleeping for almost an entire day. Too much sleep is bad for you.”

“So is getting clawed in the chest,” Sam says wryly, but Gabriel just waves him off and slips into the hallway. He blinks against the sudden firelight. The servants have already been down this hall, lighting the torches that line the walls, though Gabriel doesn’t see anyone as he makes his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. 

Technically it’s a communal bathroom, but Mirana so rarely has other guests that Gabriel’s started to think of it as his. Through a cunning feat of design and engineering, whoever built this castle managed to rig up two pools set into the floor. Each is fed by a gentle fall of water that cascades from an alcove near the ceiling, only to whirl around the pool and then disappear into a hole near the floor. The room isn’t large; it fills quickly and easily with steam, and there’s a small shelf of soaps and perfumes within arm’s reach of each pool.

Gabriel uses the toilet in the small room off to the side, then strips off his filthy clothing and bandages and slides into the warmer pool. He chooses a bottle of liquid soap—an unscented one that Mirana stocks just for him—and scrubs himself until his skin is pink from heat and friction. Even his still-tender chest is cleaned thoroughly, though he’s only so rough there because the claw marks have mostly healed and been replaced by new, tender skin. He washes his hair and tail, combs them out as best he can with his fingers, then lounges against the side of the pool, letting the heat of the water soothe whatever aches still plague him.

After a few minutes, he hauls himself out. Someone’s replaced his old clothing with a fresh set, along with two fluffy towels. He hadn’t heard anyone come in—but then, he still isn’t sure of just how many servants Mirana has in her employ, or what sort of magic allows them to work so efficiently and invisibly. Never, in all of his visits here, has he wanted for anything, and yet he’s never seen the same servant twice, nor indeed has he learned any of their names. He’s grateful for their diligence. He’d have hated to put on his dirty clothing again, though the short coat and starched shirt they left for him are a little tighter around the shoulders than he’d like. At least the pants have a hole for his tail and he can keep his own boots.

When he returns to his room, he’s surprised to find that the others are still there. Someone’s lit a fire in the grate and visited the kitchen; the three of them are halfway through their dinner and there’s a fourth plate set on a table by the fire, keeping warm. Frowning in bemusement, Gabriel retrieves the plate and joins them on the rug, where they’ve set up a chessboard. He sits between Dean and the fire so that he’ll feel warm from both sides, and Dean smiles at him, pink-cheeked, as he settles in and crosses his legs.

“I thought you would have left by now,” Gabriel says as he begins to eat. “Surely there are more comfortable places to eat than my room.”

“Possibly, but we wouldn’t be able to speak with you if we weren’t here, would we?” says Sam, grinning.

Dean and Castiel exchange grim looks, and then Castiel hauls himself to his feet and heads for the bedside table, where someone’s left a pitcher of water and a few glasses.

“We need to discuss the plan,” he says. He pours a glass and brings it to Gabriel, who gives him a grateful smile and drains it in only a few gulps.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “Yes. Sorry about the setback, by the way. I hadn’t anticipated causing such a large delay.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” says Castiel, frowning. Gabriel busies himself with his potatoes and doesn’t look at him. “Gabriel, you were _injured._ It’s not like you abandoned us.”

“Still, we’re two days behind now.” His mouth twists wryly. Admitting this is like pulling teeth, but it must be said. “And I cannot bring the army to the Tulgey Wood. I haven’t the strength anymore to open a shortcut that large for that long.” He waits for their annoyance, toying with his fork, and is surprised when Sam sighs in mild exasperation.

“We know,” he says. Gabriel looks up, surprised.

“You guessed?”

“We saw!” Sam gestures widely. “You grew more and more tired every time you had to open a doorway. By the time we were returning from the Bandersnatch’s wood, you could barely do it.”

“You’ve been walking instead of flying since you woke up,” Castiel adds. “And even now you look just about dead on your feet.”

He scowls. Perhaps he _is still tired, but he doesn’t appreciate them pointing it out. He certainly doesn’t appreciate them telling him that they’ve noticed his weakness, even though he was the one who brought it up in the first place._

“I could do it if I had to,” he says.

“The effort would kill you,” says Sam. Gabriel opens his mouth to argue but stops himself when Dean puts a hand gently on his arm.

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” he says. “Not for this. Especially not when you don’t have to.”

Gabriel, distracted by the heat of Dean’s hand on his arm, takes a moment to respond. “There aren’t very many alternatives,” he says. Again, Dean and Castiel glance meaningfully at each other. Annoyed at being kept ignorant, Gabriel narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to be subtle? Because I am not blind and I am not an idiot.”

“Ah,” says Dean delicately. “We have something to tell you.”

“Ominous,” Gabriel says. “Hold on, does this have to do with last night?”

Dean frowns. “Last night?”

“You said there was something important you needed to tell me. I’m sorry, I fell asleep before you got the chance.” 

Castiel smiles. Sam tries unsuccessfully to hide his giggles behind his hand. Blushing, Dean says, “Oh. No, this has nothing to do with that. Quiet, you,” he says to Sam.

“Your timing is, as ever, horrible,” Sam says.

“It’s not as easy as you think,” Dean mutters.

“Maybe not for you,” says Sam. “Castiel and I understand each other perfectly, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Castiel says simply, gazing at Sam with soft eyes. “Though Gabriel, for all that he loves to be cryptic when it suits him, is surprisingly bad at picking up subtleties.”

Horribly confused and somewhat offended, Gabriel takes a bite of his bread.

“Anyway,” Dean says loudly, “this has nothing to do with that.” He pauses for a moment, and his expression spasms into something uncomfortable, something apologetic. “Her Majesty has a way for us to get the army across the sea.”

“Really? How?” Gabriel asks. They devolve into silence for a moment, and Gabriel frowns. “You’re all acting very strange, and that’s saying something, coming from me.”

“We just don’t want you to be angry,” says Sam. Gabriel’s heart skips a beat.

“Why would I have cause to?” he asks slowly. Suddenly the thought of more rest isn’t so appealing. What had been done to him while he was lying defenseless in the infirmary? “What did you do?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, then meets Gabriel’s gaze head-on. “Mirana asked to be allowed to draw your blood to brew a potion. I said yes.”

Gabriel freezes. “You let her take my _blood_?” he asks, his voice high. His heart pounds in his chest. His appetite deserts him. He’s shot halfway across the room—away from them—before he even realizes he’s airborne.

“She said it’s a potion you helped her develop,” Castiel says quickly, while Sam and Dean exchange worried looks. “One that would allow other people to access your shortcuts. She did not use it for anything else, and she disposed of what was left when the potion was done.”

Gabriel’s tail lashes. “How much did she take from me?”

“She ended up needing almost four vials,” Castiel says quietly. “She burned what was left. I watched her do it.”

At least he can be sure that there isn’t still a vial of his blood out there. The potion, he remembers, is temporary, so once it’s run its course, he won’t have anything to worry about—on that front, at least.

“I suppose there was no other choice,” Gabriel says. He’d told Mirana, when they first created the potion, that it was to be used in emergencies only. This definitely counts, yet he’s hurt that Castiel had agreed so easily. He shoots his cousin a wounded look. “Still, you could have waited to ask me.”

“I would have if I thought you’d wake up in time,” says Castiel. “The attack is tomorrow, and you were unconscious until this morning. If we had waited any longer, it would have been too late. She convinced the Duchess first, then asked me. I didn’t want to, Gabriel, you must believe me.”

Gabriel’s shoulders slump. “I do,” he says, morose. “I know you wouldn’t do such a thing normally. I just feel—” He cuts himself off. He was going to say _violated_ , but that might be a bit dramatic. “Had you not told me, I wouldn’t have known until I saw the army taking the potion.” The thought nauseates him.

Castiel, too, looks like he’s about to be sick. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Truly, I wish there was anything else I could have done.”

A wave of vertigo forces Gabriel to land, and though his vision tilts as he walks back to them, he keeps his gait straight. At least he finished most of his food; he doesn’t have an appetite anymore. Keeping his gaze on the floor, he sits back down, closer to the fire, now, than Dean. For a long, tense moment, the only sound is the brittle crackling of the fire.

Finally Gabriel heaves a sigh. “Alright,” he says. “It’s done, and it was probably for the best.” But he still feels the urge to check his arms for the place they drew blood from, and his words do not rid Castiel and Sam’s faces of their guilty expression.

“We _are_ sorry, Gabriel,” Sam says. Gabriel supposes that Sam was there, then, when Castiel made the decision. Gabriel doesn't look at Dean, but he can feel Dean’s gaze like a brand.

“I know,” says Gabriel to Sam. “It’s alright. I don’t hold it against you.” He makes sure to catch Castiel’s eye, too, and holds his gaze until he nods once, mouth a tense line. “Now tell me about this battle plan.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks. Tentatively, he reaches for Gabriel’s hand, and Gabriel lets him twine their fingers together. After a moment, he even squeezes back.

“I’m sure,” he says. “The attack is tomorrow, isn’t it? And I’m not even sure yet of what we’re to do.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then he nods determinedly and reaches for the chessboard sitting on the floor in the middle of their circle. “This is the Jabberwock,” he says, resting a finger on the black king. “Our goal is to slay it. We need its blood for the potion that will send us home, but also Her Majesty thinks the Red Queen’s army will desert her if we destroy their most fearsome weapon.”

Gabriel grins and leans forward to pick up the black queen from the board. “I assume this is Iracebeth?” He tuts. “Her head is not nearly this proportionate.”

“Focus, Gabriel,” says Castiel.

“Oh, trust me, I am,” says Gabriel. “I’m always focused.” He puts the queen back and then gestures to the white pieces. “So who’s who over here?”

“This is Queen Mirana, obviously,” says Dean, pointing to the white queen. “She will be with the front half of the army for the duration of the battle.”

“Front half?”

“She’s going to split the army,” says Sam. “Now that each soldier will be able to open their own shortcut, we have the ability to send half of the army to meet Iracebeth’s soldiers, and the other half to flank them.”

“Smart,” says Gabriel. “And merely a distraction, I presume?”

“Well, the goal is to defeat the Jabberwock.” Sam rearranges the pieces so that all of the black pieces are lined up in the center of the board, with one row of white pieces on either side of them. The only pieces out of order are the white queen, the white king, and the white knights.

“Sam and I will be riding the Bandersnatch,” says Castiel.

“Hang on,” Gabriel interrupts. “What do you mean, you’ll be riding the Bandersnatch? Surely you’re not going to be at the battle.”

“Of course,” says Castiel, surprised. “We all are.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Gabriel says immediately. “You’re too young. You’re not trained.”

“Neither is Dean, but he’s going to be battling the Jabberwock,” says Castiel defiantly.

“He’s a child of prophecy.”

“So is Sam, and so were you. And if you were right about the prophecy calling for two people, then it was my birthright as well.” Castiel’s eyes narrow. He can be stubborn as a mule when he wants to be, and Gabriel is not in the mood to argue right now.

“Fine,” he says. “You two will be with the Bandersnatch.” At least he knows from personal experience that she’s a fierce fighter and fiercely loyal. She’ll keep them safe.

Sam points to the white knights. “We’ll be focusing on the army and the Jubjub bird, which are both landbound. You—”Sam points to the king—“will help Dean defeat the Jabberwock, since you are the only one of us who can fly.”

Gabriel looks at the chessboard. It’s not a very complicated plan, but sometimes simpler is better. Besides, he has no doubt that this plan is the result of more than a few hours of arguments and discussion.

“Alright,” he says after a few moments. “I have the horrible feeling that something is going to go wrong tomorrow, but until then, this is as good a plan as any.”

Dean laughs awkwardly. “It’s nice to know we have your vote of confidence.”

“Confidence has nothing to do with it,” says Gabriel, unusually solemn. “I’ve been here longer than all of you, and I’ve learned by now that it’s best to prepare for the worst. Underland will always find a way to surprise you.”

The others exchange worried looks. Gabriel yawns widely.

“Okay,” Sam says with a sigh. “I think that’s enough for tonight. You still need to rest.”

Gabriel hesitates. In truth, he _is_ still tired—tired in a bone-deep way, in a way that makes it difficult to even fly. But he cannot stop thinking about how someone took his blood while he was unconscious in the infirmary. In his mind it isn’t Mirana, per se, but it is a figure all in white, cloaked in shadow, wielding glinting silver instruments in long, spidery fingers. Gabriel can’t move in this vision; he lies on his back on a bed, his arm twisted so that the soft skin on the inside is bared and defenseless. He can turn his head, however, and when he looks to his other side he sees Sam and Castiel lurking there, watching.

“Gabriel!”

Hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, and Gabriel gives a strangled gasp and jerks back. His wide-eyed gaze meets Dean’s—Dean whose brow is furrowed in concern, his mouth soft, his eyes moving quickly as he looks between Gabriel’s own. His grip gentles on Gabriel’s shoulders; one of his hands slides a little higher, until Dean is cradling the back of Gabriel’s neck.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks. “You didn’t react when we called you. It was like you went somewhere else.”

Gabriel swallows and grips Dean’s wrists tightly. “I did,” he says. “It wasn’t anywhere good.” But Dean wasn’t there. Dean, Gabriel is starting to suspect, will never be there, in that place of helpless terror. Perhaps if Gabriel lets him, Dean will keep Gabriel from having to return to that place again, too.

“Maybe you’re right about me needing rest,” Gabriel says. He forces a smile onto his face and fights to keep it there. “Chess is tiring work, after all.”

Sam and Castiel exchange looks.

“Right,” says Sam as they stand. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” The three of them collect the plates and cutlery and stack them on the table by the fire. Gabriel does not offer to help, and they do not ask him to, but as they make for the door, he pulls himself to his feet to see them out.

In the doorway, Castiel pauses, and Sam waits in the hallway for him. Gabriel watches, amused and sad, as Castiel opens and closes his mouth, struggling to speak. After a moment Gabriel takes pity on him and, remembering something Dean said earlier, extends his hand. Castiel quiets, staring at the hand like he’s never seen it before, and he hesitates before taking it. After a moment his grip tightens.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he says. “More glad than I can say.”

“So am I, Castiel,” says Gabriel softly. With a soft, rare smile, Castiel turns and heads down the hallway.

“Wrong way,” Sam whispers, tugging him in the other direction.

“How can you tell?” Castiel asks, sounding annoyed. Sam’s laughter grows faint as they turn the corner.

Dean, who has stood at Gabriel’s side all this time, slides past him and into the hallway, and Gabriel reacts before he can think about it, snagging Dean’s wrist and tugging him gently back.

“Wait,” he says, unnecessarily.

“I wasn’t going to leave before saying goodnight,” says Dean.

Gabriel’s grip only tightens around Dean’s arm, and he looks away, embarrassed. He has never asked for help, not once in his long, lonely life—except when it comes to Dean. Help has always been offered to him, and in the cases where it was not, he’s made do on his own. But Dean didn’t ridicule him earlier when he’d pleaded for him to stay, and the other night, when he found Gabriel weak in the Cherry Wood, he’d sat on the ground with him for almost an hour, cradling Gabriel in his arms. Surely he would be understanding if Gabriel asked him to stay tonight?

“Gabriel?” Dean says. “Is something wrong?”

“Not necessarily,” Gabriel hedges. “I just wanted to ask you something.” Dean raises his eyebrows inquiringly, and Gabriel loses his nerve. “What was it you were going to say to me last night? Before I fell asleep, I mean.”

“Oh.” Now Dean is the one embarrassed. He reddens and lifts his free hand to the back of his neck. “It can wait. I don’t want to keep you up if you’re tired.”

“It is important, though,” Gabriel says, and Dean does not refute this. “I’d like it if you told me. You can come back in, if you’d like. I think I could stay up a while longer.”

Dean furrows his brows and stares at him. Gabriel has the disconcerting feeling that he’s revealed more than he meant to, and this feeling only intensifies when Dean smiles suddenly. As Dean says, “Sure. Lead the way” and follows Gabriel back into the room, Gabriel wonders: when did Dean learn to read him so well? When did Gabriel, so unknowable even to people who have known him for decades, bare himself to Dean?

He is discomfited as he closes the door behind Dean and trundles to the middle of the room, where Dean is standing expectantly by the dying fire. Halfway there, he yawns enormously. Dean laughs, not unkindly.

“You _are_ tired,” he says triumphantly, but softly, too, as if he is trying to lull Gabriel to sleep with the familiar cadence of his low, safe voice.

“Not very,” Gabriel says stubbornly. “I want to know what you have to say to me.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Dean says, and immediately winces.

Admittedly that was in bad taste, but Gabriel refuses to let the mood sour. “Ah, but satisfaction brought it back,” he says sagely. Dean huffs, smiling.

“Incorrigible,” he says. “How about this: I’ll spend the night here again, and I can tell you in the morning?” His eyes are knowing—too knowing. Gabriel looks away, toward the unmade bed, where just a few hours before he’d woken wrapped in Dean’s arms. Belatedly, he realizes he should be taken aback by Dean’s presumption; almost at the same time, he realizes he does not care.

“If you’d like,” he says nonchalantly. By now it is true night. Blackness pulses insistently at the edges of the bright orange glow of the fire. Gabriel considers adding more wood to the embers to keep the flame fed, but decides against it, for he is, at heart, a coward, more comfortable in the dark where he will be able to see Dean but Dean will see nothing but the glow of his cat eyes and a fuzzy, indistinct outline.

It is only once they’re in bed—blushing, both of them, for they’d had to strip down to their underclothes since they had no nightclothes—that Gabriel realizes how foolish he’d been. Darkness or no, Dean sees right through him, and he has for a while. Gabriel does not see the proof of this, though, until he’s curled up facing Dean, who reaches over to tuck an errant strand of his hair behind his ear.

“They’re right, you know,” Dean murmurs. “You really are an oblivious idiot sometimes.”

Gabriel, appallingly, is tired enough to sleep again, and can only muster up the energy for a half-hearted “Hey.”

“If you wanted me to stay the night, all you had to do was ask,” Dean continues.

Gabriel is silent for a moment. Then he says, his voice small, “I know it is irrational, but I am scared of what might happen to me if I fall asleep again. I sleep deeply; I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. If they took more blood—if they took something else—I would be helpless to stop them.”

Dean’s face falls. “Oh, Gabriel,” he sighs. “That’s not irrational. Admittedly, I don’t know much about magic, blood-related or otherwise, but regardless, it was invasive what they did to you. As necessary as it was, I’m still sorry it happened.”

Gabriel’s glad that he’s not catlike enough to purr, otherwise he knows he would be by now. “Thank you,” he says. “That does make me feel better.”

“I’m glad. And if it makes you feel safer, I’d gladly stay as long as you want me to.”

Smiling shyly, Gabriel reaches across the scant few inches that separates them. Dean’s hand meets his in the middle.

“For always,” Gabriel says. “For always and forever.”

* * *

Gabriel has never worn armor in his life, and he is not about to start now. He’s rested and eaten, and he has enough strength to use his magic to its fullest potential. Armor would only slow him down in the air, which is something he cannot afford, especially considering his main role in all of this is to protect Dean.

As the predawn sky lightens to an indistinct yellowish-gray, however, he watches intently as two of Mirana’s courtiers help Dean pull on the Armor of the Champion. Surprising absolutely no one, the Armor fits Dean perfectly, and he grips the Vorpal Sword like it is an extension of his own arm. He only has a few days of sword training under his belt; luckily he isn’t battling another swordsman, but the Jabberwock, which won’t require much finesse or technical skill.

Still, Gabriel plans to keep a close eye on him. Riding the Bandersnatch close to Mirana, Sam and Castiel will be more protected, for which Gabriel is glad; now his attention won’t be divided, and he’ll be better able to focus on helping Dean. His tail lashes anxiously behind him while he waits for Dean to finish, and his ears twitch at every sudden noise. 

The full force of Mirana’s army is gathered in the large open space separating the castle from the Cherry Wood. All of the chess pieces are excited; the poor things don’t really feel much in the way of fear. A product of Mirana’s often experimental magic, they have just about enough intelligence to follow orders to the letter, but, luckily for them, not enough to worry about their own demise. Currently they’re waiting for Mirana’s signal, at which point half of them will march forth into the Wood, open shortcuts for themselves, and take their places on the battlefield. The other half will wait for Mirana’s second signal, which will be delivered back here by Gabriel himself.

He gazes once more over the field. The green of the grass has been all but overtaken by the chess pieces, interspersed here and there by a few more distinctive figures. Trey and the Duchess, both in red, stand at the head of the pack along with Mirana’s general. The Hatter and the Hare are a little further down, waiting to lead the second half of the army into battle. Behind them, watching anxiously from Mirana’s garden, are the courtiers, as well as Absolem and the Dormouse, who are staying behind to protect the Oraculum. And then, of course, there is Mirana herself, resplendent in white armor at the treeline of the Cherry Wood. Astride her enormous alabaster stallion, she keeps pace easily with Sam and Castiel on the back of the lumbering Bandersnatch. They’ll lead the charge. Gabriel and Dean will bring up the rear, and aren’t to strike until Iracebeth calls forth the Jabberwock.

Gabriel turns back to Dean, who’s finally finished and is adjusting the vambraces on his forearms.

“Well, how does it look?” he asks self-consciously.

Gabriel considers him, walking around him in a slow circle to see him from all angles. When they are face to face again, he smiles. “You look like a boy in magical armor,” he says.

Dean huffs out a laugh. “At least you’re honest.”

“I have always been.” Gabriel’s smile softens. “You look like the Jabberwock-Slayer. You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” Dean’s cheeks turn pink and he smiles at the ground, pleased. Gabriel’s heart twists in his chest, and he fights back the urge to do something ridiculous like grab Dean and run away from all of this danger. “Why aren’t you wearing any armor?” Dean asks. “I don’t mean to doubt you, but isn’t it dangerous?”

“Maybe for you,” says Gabriel, “but I’ll be fine. I can fly, remember? You and I are not going to be in the thick of battle, anyway.”

“Right.” Dean’s face turns grim. “We’ll be fighting the Jabberwock.”

“We’ll be _killing_ the Jabberwock,” Gabriel corrects. “We can’t just leave it alive, after all. We’re trying to overthrow the big-head, and to do that we have to take away her most deadly weapon.”

Frowning, Dean fiddles with one of the clasps of his metal vambraces. “I’ve never killed anything before,” he says, softly, like he is admitting something shameful. Gabriel’s heart hurts.

“Oh, Dean,” he sighs. “I’m sorry that you have to do this. I wish there were another way.”

Dean gifts him with a small smile. “I know there isn’t,” he says. “I’d rather do it than Sam. It’s bad enough that Sam will be in the battle at all, but if it gets us home in one piece, then it’s worth it.”

Gabriel considers reaching for Dean’s hand, but decides against it. It looks cold and uninviting, gloved as it is in silver metal, so instead he reaches up and rests his fingertips gently against Dean’s cheek, as if by the simple act of such softly intimate contact he can keep Dean safe.

“I wish I could protect you from this,” he says softly. Dean turns his head to kiss his fingers, staring all the while into Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel’s breath hitches. He cannot look away; for all his wiles, all his tricks, all his magic, he is ensnared by the intensity of Dean’s gaze.

“Gabriel, I must tell you something,” he says, his voice low and urgent. Gabriel cannot speak. Ironically, his tongue feels like lead in his mouth, clumsy and unresponsive. He nods, his heart beginning to race, thinking back to last night, to the bed, to the soft, dark safety that Dean’s presence has come to mean.

Three sharp blasts from a horn—the signal. Dean and Gabriel jerk apart as the army roars, stabbing their swords into the air. Mirana, Sam, and Castiel disappear into the Cherry Wood, followed closely by Trey and the Duchess, who are leading the first half of the army. Dean, when Gabriel looks back at him, seems a little stunned. Gabriel is flustered himself, his heart still pounding in his chest, his face hot; but he gives Dean’s shoulder a gentle shove toward the horse Gabriel is supposed to ride.

“Come, on your steed,” he says. Dean’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to speak, but Gabriel interrupts him. “Not now! We haven’t the time.” Dean’s expression falls, hurt, and Gabriel sighs as he helps Dean mount the horse. Then he flies up so that they’re face to face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh. I want to hear what you have to say, I promise I do, but we really must go. There will be time for this later; for now, we have to fight.”

Dean’s lips thin in displeasure, but he nods. “You’re right,” he says. “They’re counting on us.” He pulls the helmet over his head and flips the face plate down. Gabriel grins, feral, and darts forward to kiss the front of Dean’s helmet.

“Let’s go.”

He shoots off. Dean lets out a startled noise behind him, and a moment later he pulls his horse up beside Gabriel. Gabriel cannot see him for all the armor, but he likes to imagine Dean is wearing the same exhilarated smile that splits his own face. Later there will be time for the terror and the worry. For now, they race neck and neck into the Cherry Wood, toward battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean. It must be difficult trying to confess your feelings to someone as oblivious as Gabriel. Next time: the final battle. Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter! Comments and kudos make my day :)


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